THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
FREDERIC  THOMAS  BLANCHARD 


MASTER-   TALES 

PARISIAN 
POINTS     OF     VIEW 

BY 
LUDOVIC     HALEVY 


TRANSLATED        BY 

EDITH  V.  B.  MATTHEWS 

WITH    INTRODUCTION  BY 

BRANDER    MATTHEWS 


HARPER   6-  BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
NEW      YORK      AND*    LONDON 


Copyright,  1894,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  reserved. 


£.27 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION vii 

ONLY  A  WALTZ 3 

THE  DANCING-MASTER 37 

THE   CIRCUS   CHARGER 49 

BLACKY 69 

THE  MOST  BEAUTIFUL  WOMAN  IN  PARIS    ...     83 

THE  STORY  OF  A   BALL-DRESS 113 

THE  INSURGENT 137 

THE   CHINESE   AMBASSADOR 147 

IN  THE  EXPRESS  .    . .  161 


' 


INTRODUCTION 


THE  SHORT  STORIES  OF  M.  LUDOVIC  HALEVY 

To  most  American  readers  of  fiction  I  fancy 
that  M.  Ludovic  Halevy  is  known  chiefly,  if  not 
solely,  as  the  author  of  that  most  charming  of  mod- 
ern French  novels,  The  AbM  Constantin.  Some  of 
these  readers  may  have  disliked  this  or  that  novel 
of  M.  Zola's  because  of  its  bad  moral,  and  this  or 
that  novel  of  M.  Ohnet's  because  of  its  bad  taste, 
and  all  of  them  were  delighted  to  discover  in  M. 
Halevy's  interesting  and  artistic  work  a  story  writ- 
ten by  a  French  gentleman  for  young  ladies.  Here 
and  there  a  scoffer  might  sneer  at  the  tale  of  the 
old  French  priest  and  the  young  women  from  Can- 
ada as  innocuous  and  saccharine ;  but  the  story  of 
the  good  Abbe  Constantin  and  of  his  nephew,  and 
of  the  girl  the  nephew  loved  in  spite  of  her  Amer- 
ican millions — this  story  had  the  rare  good-fortune 
of  pleasing  at  once  the  broad  public  of  indiscrimi- 
nate readers  of  fiction  and  the  narrower  circle  of 
real  lovers  of  literature.  Artificial  the  atmosphere 
of  the  tale  might  be,  but  it  was  with  an  artifice  at 
once  delicate  and  delicious;  and  the  tale  itself  won 
its  way  into  the  hearts  of  the  women  of  America 
as  it  had  into  the  hearts  of  the  women  of  France. 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

There  is  even  a  legend — although  how  solid  a 
foundation  it  may  have  in  fact  I  do  not  dare  to  dis- 
cuss— there  is  a  legend  that  the  lady-superior  of  a 
certain  convent  near  Paris  was  so  fascinated  by 
The  Abbe  Constantin,  and  so  thoroughly  convinced 
of  the  piety  of  its  author,  that  she  ordered  all  his 
other  works,  receiving  in  due  season  the  lively  vol- 
umes wherein  are  recorded  the  sayings  and  doings 
of  Monsieur  and  Madame  Cardinal,  and  of  the  two 
lovely  daughters  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  Cardi- 
nal. To  note  that  these  very  amusing  studies  of 
certain  aspects  of  life  in  a  modern  capital  origi- 
nally appeared  in  that  extraordinary  journal,  La  Vie 
Parisienne — now  sadly  degenerate — is  enough  to  in- 
dicate that  they  are  not  precisely  what  the  good 
lady  -  superior  expected  to  receive.  We  may  not 
say  that  La  Famille  Cardinal  is  one  of  the  books 
every  gentleman's  library  should  be  without;  but 
to  appreciate  its  value  requires  a  far  different  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  and  of  its  wickedness  than  is 
needed  to  understand  The  Abbe  Constantin. 

Yet  the  picture  of  the  good  priest  and  the  por- 
traits of  the  little  Cardinals  are  the  work  of  the 
same  hand,  plainly  enough.  In  both  of  these 
books,  as  in  Criquette  (M.  Halevy's  only  other 
novel),  as  in  A  Marriage  for  Love,  and  the  two- 
score  other  short  stories  he  has  written  during  the 
past  thirty  years,  there  are  the  same  artistic  quali- 
ties, the  same  sharpness  of  vision,  the  same  gentle 
irony,  the  same  constructive  skill,  and  the  same 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

dramatic  touch.  It  is  to  be  remembered  always 
that  the  author  of  L'AbM  Constantin  is  also  the 
half  -  author  of  "  Froufrou  "  and  of  "  Tricoche  et 
Cacolet,"  as  well  as  of  the  librettos  of  "  La  Belle 
Helene  "  and  of  "  La  Grande  Duchesse  de  Gerol- 
stein." 

In  the  two  novels,  as  in  the  twoscore  short  sto- 
ries and  sketches — the  contes  and  the  nouvelles  which 
are  now  spring-like  idyls  and  now  wintry  episodes, 
now  sombre  etchings  and  now  gayly-colored  pas- 
tels— in  all  the  works  of  the  story-teller  we  see  the 
firm  grasp  of  the  dramatist.  The  characters  speak 
for  themselves ;  each  reveals  himself  with  the  swift 
directness  of  the  personages  of  a  play.  They  are 
not  talked  about  and  about,  for  all  analysis  has 
been  done  by  the  playwright  before  he  rings  up  the 
curtain  in  the  first  paragraph.  And  the  story  un- 
rolls itself,  also,  as  rapidly  as  does  a  comedy.  The 
movement  is  straightforward.  There  is  the  clever- 
ness and  the  ingenuity  of  the  accomplished  dram- 
atist, but  the  construction  has  the  simplicity  of  the 
highest  skill.  The  arrangement  of  incidents  is  so 
artistic  that  it  seems  inevitable ;  and  no  one  is  ever 
moved  to  wonder  whether  or  not  the  tale  might 
have  been  better  told  in  different  fashion. 

Nephew  of  the  composer  of  "  La  Juive  "  —  an 
opera  not  now  heard  as  often  as  it  deserves,  per- 
haps— and  son  of  a  playwright  no  one  of  whose 
productions  now  survives,  M.  Halevy  grew  up  in 
the  theatre.  At  fourteen  he  was  on  the  free-list  of 


x  INTRODUCTION 

the  Opera,  the  Opera -Comique,  and  the  Odeon. 
After  he  left  school  and  went  into  the  civil  service 
his  one  wish  was  to  write  plays,  and  so  to  be  able 
to  afford  to  resign  his  post.  In  the  civil  service 
he  had  an  inside  view  of  French  politics,  which 
gave  him  a  distaste  for  the  mere  game  of  govern- 
ment without  in  any  way  impairing  the  vigor  of  his 
patriotism ;  as  is  proved  by  certain  of  the  short 
stories  dealing  with  the  war  of  1870  and  the  revolt 
of  the  Paris  Communists.  And  while  he  did  his 
work  faithfully,  he  had  spare  hours  to  give  to  litera- 
ture. He  wrote  plays  and  stories,  and  they  were 
rejected.  The  manager  of  the  Odeon  declared  that 
one  early  play  of  M.  Halevy's  was  exactly  suited 
to  the  Gymnase,  and  the  manager  of  the  Gymnase 
protested  that  it  was  exactly  suited  to  the  Odeon. 
The  editor  of  a  daily  journal  said  that  one  early 
tale  of  M.  Halevy's  was  too  brief  for  a  novel,  and 
the  editor  of  a  weekly  paper  said  that  it  was  too 
long  for  a  short  story. 

In  time,  of  course,  his  luck  turned  ;  he  had  plays 
performed  and  stories  published ;  and  at  last  he 
met  M.  Henri  Meilhac,  and  entered  on  that  collab- 
oration of  nearly  twenty  years'  duration  to  which 
we  owe  "  Froufrou  "  and  "  Tricoche  et  Cacolet,"  on 
the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  the  books  of  Offen- 
bach's most  brilliant  operas — "  Barbebleue,"  for  ex- 
ample, and  "  La  Perichole."  When  this  collabora- 
tion terminated,  shortly  before  M.  Halevy  wrote 
The  Abbe  Constantin,  he  gave  up  writing  for  the 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

stage.  The  training  of  the  playwright  he  could 
not  give  up,  if  he  would,  nor  the  intimacy  with  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  people  who  live,  move, 
and  have  their  being  on  the  far  side  of  the  curtain. 

Obviously  M.  Halevy  is  fond  of  the  actors  and 
the  actresses  with  whom  he  spent  the  years  of  his 
manhood.  They  appear  again  and  again  in  his 
tales ;  and  in  his  treatment  of  them  there  is  never 
anything  ungentlemanly  as  there  was  in  M.  Jean 
Richepin's  recent  volume  of  theatrical  sketches. 
M.  Halevy's  liking  for  the  men  and  women  of  the 
stage  is  deep;  and  wide  is  his  knowledge  of  their 
changing  moods.  The  young  Criquette  and  the 
old  Karikari  and  the  aged  Dancing -master — -he 
knows  them  all  thoroughly,  and  he  likes  them 
heartily,  and  he  sympathizes  with  them  cordially. 
Indeed,  nowhere  can  one  find  more  kindly  por- 
traits of  the  kindly  player-folk  than  in  the  writings 
of  this  half-author  of  "Froufrou";  it  is  as  though 
the  successful  dramatist  felt  ever  grateful  towards 
the  partners  of  his  toil,  the  companions  of  his 
struggles.  He  is  not  blind  to  their  manifold  weak- 
nesses, nor  is  he  the  dupe  of  their  easy  emotional- 
ism, but  he  is  tolerant  of  their  failings,  and  towards 
them,  at  least,  his  irony  is  never  mordant. 

Irony  is  one  of  M.  HaleVy's  chief  characteristics, 
perhaps  the  chief est.  It  is  gentle  when  he  deals 
with  the  people  of  the  stage — far  gentler  then  than 
when  he  is  dealing  with  the  people  of  Society,  with 
fashionable  folk,  with  the  aristocracy  of  wealth. 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

When  he  is  telling  us  of  the  young  loves  of  million- 
aires and  of  million-heiresses,  his  touch  may  seem 
caressing,  but  for  all  its  softness  the  velvet  paw  has 
claws  none  the  less.  It  is  amusing  to  note  how 
often  M.  Hale'vy  has  chosen  to  tell  the  tale  of  love 
among  the  very  rich.  The  heroine  of  The  Abbe 
Constantin  is  immensely  wealthy,  as  we  all  know, 
and  immensely  wealthy  are  the  heroines  of  Prin- 
cesse,  of  A  Grand  Marriage,  and  of  In  the  Ex- 
press* Sometimes  the  heroes  and  the  heroines 
are  not  only  immensely  wealthy,  they  are  also  of 
the  loftiest  birth ;  such,  for  instance,  are  the  young 
couple  whose  acquaintance  we  make  in  the  pages 
of  Only  a  Waltz. 

There  is  no  trace  or  taint  of  snobbery  in  M. 
Hale'vy's  treatment  of  all  this  magnificence ;  there 
is  none  of  the  vulgarity  which  marks  the  pages  of 
Lothair,  for  example ;  there  is  no  mean  admira- 
tion of  mean  things.  There  is,  on  the  other  hand, 
no  bitterness  of  scourging  satire.  He  lets  us  see 
that  all  this  luxury  is  a  little  cloying  and  perhaps 
not  a  little  enervating.  He  suggests  (although  he 
takes  care  never  to  say  it)  that  perhaps  wealth 
and  birth  are  not  really  the  best  the  world  can 
offer.  The  amiable  egotism  of  the  hero  of  In  the 

*  Perhaps  the  present  writer  will  be  forgiven  if  he  wishes 
to  record  here  that  In  the  Express  (Par  le  Rapide)  was 
published  in  Paris  only  towards  the  end  of  1892,  while  a  tale 
not  wholly  unlike  it,  In  the  Vestibule  Limited,  was  published 
in  New  York  in  the  spring  of  1891. 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

Express,  and  the  not  unkindly  selfishness  of  the 
heroine  of  that  most  Parisian  love-story,  are  set  be- 
fore us  without  insistence,  it  is  true,  but  with  an 
irony  so  keen  that  even  he  who  runs  as  he  reads 
may  not  mistake  the  author's  real  opinion  of  the 
characters  he  has  evoked. 

To  say  this  is  to  say  that  M.  Hale'vy's  irony  is 
delicate  and  playful.  There  is  no  harshness  in  his 
manner  and  no  hatred  in  his  mind.  We  do  not 
find  in  his  pages  any  of  the  pessimism  which  is 
perhaps  the  dominant  characteristic  of  the  best 
French  fiction  of  our  time.  To  M.  Halevy,  as  to 
every  thinking  man,  life  is  serious,  no  doubt,  but 
it  need  not  be  taken  sadly,  or  even  solemnly.  To 
him  life  seems  still  enjoyable,  as  it  must  to  most 
of  those  who  have  a  vivid  sense  of  humor.  He  is 
not  disillusioned  utterly,  he  is  not  reduced  to  the 
blankness  of  despair  as  are  so  many  of  the  disci- 
ples of  Flaubert,  who  are  cast  into  the  outer  dark- 
ness, and  who  hopelessly  revolt  against  the  doom 
they  have  brought  on  themselves. 

Indeed,  it  is  Merimee  that  M.  Halevy  would  hail 
as  his  master,  and  not  Flaubert,  whom  most  of 
his  fellow  French  writers  of  fiction  follow  blind- 
ly. Now,  while  the  author  of  Salamnbo  was  a  ro- 
manticist turned  sour,  the  author  of  Carmen  was 
a  sentimentalist  sheathed  in  irony.  To  Gustave 
Flaubert  the  world  was  hideously  ugly,  and  he 
wished  it  strangely  and  splendidly  beautiful,  and 
he  detested  it  the  more  because  of  his  impossible 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

ideal.  To  Prosper  Merimee  the  world  was  what 
it  is,  to  be  taken  and  made  the  best  of,  every 
man  keeping  himself  carefully  guarded.  Like  Me- 
rimee, M.  Halevy  is  detached,  but  he  is  not  disen- 
chanted. His  work  is  more  joyous  than  Merimee's, 
if  not  so  vigorous  and  compact,  and  his  delight 
in  it  is  less  disguised.  Even  in  the  Cardinal 
sketches  there  is  nothing  that  leaves  an  acrid 
after-taste,  nothing  corroding — as  there  is  not  sel- 
dom in  the  stronger  and  sterner  short  stories  of 
Maupassant. 

More  than  Maupassant  or  Flaubert  or  Merimee, 
is  M.  Halevy  a  Parisian.  Whether  or  not  the  char- 
acters of  his  tale  are  dwellers  in  the  capital,  whether 
or  not  the  scene  of  his  story  is  laid  in  the  city 
by  the  Seine,  the  point  of  view  is  always  Parisian. 
The  Circus  Charger  did  his  duty  in  the  stately 
avenues  of  a  noble  country-place,  and  Blacky  per- 
formed his  task  near  a  rustic  water-fall ;  but  the 
men  who  record  their  intelligent  actions  are  Pari- 
sians of  the  strictest  sect.  Even  in  the  patriotic 
pieces  called  forth  by  the  war  of  1870,  in  the  In- 
surgent and  in  the  Chinese  Ambassador,  it  is  the 
siege  of  Paris  and  the  struggle  of  the  Communists 
which  seem  to  the  author  most  important.  His 
style  even,  his  swift  and  limpid  prose — the  prose 
which  somehow  corresponds  to  the  best  vers  de  so- 
cittc  in  its  brilliancy  and  buoyancy — is  the  style  of 
one  who  lives  at  the  centre  of  things.  Cardinal 
Newman  once  said  that  while  Livy  and  Tacitus 


INTRODUCTION  XV 

and  Terence  and  Seneca  wrote  Latin,  Cicero  wrote 
Roman ;  so  while  M.  Zola  on  the  one  side,  and  M. 
Georges  Ohnet  on  the  other,  may  write  French,  M. 
Halevy  writes  Parisian. 

BRANDER   MATTHEWS. 


ONLY  A  WALTZ 


ONLY  A  WALTZ 

"  AUNT,  dear  aunt,  don't  believe  a  word  of  what 
he  is  going  to  tell  you.  He  is  preparing  to  fib,  to 
fib  outrageously.  If  I  hadn't  interrupted  him  at 
the  beginning  of  his  talk,  he  would  have  told  you 
that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  me  from 
his  and  my  earliest  childhood." 

"  Of  course  !"  exclaimed  Gontran. 

"  Of  course  not,"  replied  Marceline.  "  He  was 
going  to  tell  you  that  he  was  a  good  little  boy, 
having  always  loved  his  little  cousin,  and  that  our 
marriage  was  a  delightful  romance  of  tenderness 
and  sweetness." 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course,"  repeated  Gontran. 

"  Nonsense !  The  truth,  Aunt  Louise,  the  real 
truth,  in  short,  is  this,  never,  never  should  we  have 
been  married  if  on  the  ryth  of  May,  1890,  between 
nine  and  eleven  o'clock,  he  had  not  lost  34,000 
points  at  bezique  at  the  club,  and  if  all  the  boxes 
had  not  been  sold,  that  same  night,  at  the  Bouffes- 
Parisiens  Theatre." 

Gontran  began  to  laugh. 


4  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

"  Oh,  you  can  laugh  as  much  as  you  please ! 
You  know  very  well  that  but  f.or  this  —  on  what 
does  fate  depend  ? — I  should  now  be  married  and 
a  duchess,  it  is  true ;  but  Duchess  of  Courtalin,  and 
not  Duchess  of  Lannilis.  Well,  perhaps  that  would 
have  been  better!  At  any  rate,  I  wish  to  give 
Aunt  Louise  the  authentic  history  of  our  marriage." 

"  Tell  away,  if  it  amuses  you,"  said  Gontran. 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  amuses  me.  You  shall  know  all, 
Aunt  Louise — all,  absolutely  all ;  and  I  beg  you  to 
be  judge  of  our  quarrel." 

This  scene  was  taking  place  eight  days  after 
Marceline  de  Lorlauge,  at  the  Church  of  the  Made- 
leine, before  the  altar,  hidden  under  a  mountain  of 
roses,  had  answered  "yes,"  with  just  the  right 
amount  of  nervousness  and  emotion  (neither  too 
much  nor  too  little,  but  exactly  right),  when  she  was 
asked  if  she  was  willing  to  take  for  husband  her 
cousin,  Jean  Leopold  Mathurin  Arbert  Gontran, 
Duke  of  Lannilis. 

This  marriage  had  been  the  great  marriage  of  the 
season.  There  had  been  an  absolute  crush  under 
the  colonnade  and  against  the  railings  of  the  church 
to  see  the  bride  walk  down  those  fearful  steps  of 
the  Madeleine.  What  an  important  feat  that  is ! 
Merely  to  be  beautiful  is  not  all  that  is  needful ;  it 
is  necessary  besides  to  know  how  to  be  beautiful. 


ONLY   A   WALTZ  5 

There  is  an  art  about  being  pretty  which  requires 
certain  preparations  and  study.  In  society,  as  in 
the  theatre,  success  rarely  comes  at  once.  Mme. 
de  Lannilis  had  the  good -fortune  to  make  her 
first  appearance  with  decisive  success.  She  was  at 
once  quite  easily  and  boldly  at  home  in  her  beau- 
ty; she  had  only  to  appear  to  triumph.  Prince 
Nerins  had  not  a  moment's  hesitation  concern- 
ing it,  and  he  it  is,  as  every  one  knows,  who,  with 
general  consent,  has  made  himself  the  distribu- 
tor of  the  patents  of  supreme  Parisian  elegance  ; 
so  while  the  new  duchess,  beneath  the  fire  of  a 
thousand  eyes  and  behind  the  ringing  staffs,  was 
taking  her  first  steps  as  a  young  married  woman 
with  calm  assurance,  Nerins,  struck  with  admira- 
tion, was  giving  way,  under  the  colonnade  of  the 
Madeleine,  to  veritable  transports  of  enthusiasm. 
He  went  from  group  to  group  repeating : 

"  She  is  aerial !  There  is  no  other  expression 
for  her — aerial !  She  does  not  walk,  she  glides ! 
If  she  had  the  fantasy,  with  one  little  kick  of  her 
heel,  she  could  raise  herself  lightly  over  the  heads 
of  those  two  tall  fellows  with  spears,  cross  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  and  go  and  place  herself  on 
the  pediment  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  Look 
at  her  well;  that  is  true  beauty,  radiant  beauty, 
blazing  beauty !  She  is  a  goddess,  a  young  god- 


6  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF  VIEW 

dess !  she  will  reign  long,  gentlemen — as  long  as 
possible." 

The  young  goddess,  for  the  present,  did  not  go 
farther  than  Lannilis,  in  Poitou,  to  her  husband's 
home  —  her  home  —  in  a  mansion  that  had  seen 
many  Duchesses  of  Lannilis,  but  never  one  more 
charming,  and  never,  it  must  be  said,  one  more  ab- 
solutely in  love.  This  little  duchess  of  nineteen 
was  wild  about  this  little  duke  of  twenty-five,  who 
was  jealously  carrying  her  off  for  himself  alone  to 
a  quiet  and  solitary  retreat. 

They  had  arrived  Thursday,  the  24th  of  June,  at 
about  two  o'clock — on  an  exquisite  night  beneath 
a  star  -  spangled  sky  —  and  they  were  suddenly 
astounded  at  receiving  a  letter  from  their  Aunt 
Louise,  dated  July  i : 

"  Eight  days'  steady  tete-a-tete,"  she  wrote,  "  is 
enough,  quite  enough.  Trust  to  the  experience  of 
an  old  countrywoman,  who  would  be  delighted  to 
kiss  her  little  nephew  and  niece.  Don't  eat  all 
your  love  in  the  bud — keep  a  little  for  the  future." 

Thursday,  the  ist  of  July!  Eight  days!  They 
had  been  eight  days  at  Lannilis  !  It  was  impos- 
sible !  They  tried  to  put  some  order  in  their  re- 
flections. What  had  they  done  Friday,  Saturday, 
and  Sunday  ?  But  all  was  vague,  and  became  con- 
fused in  their  minds.  The  days  and  the  nights, 


ONLY    A    WALTZ  7 

and  the  nights  and  days.  What  had  they  done  ? 
It  was  always  the  same,  same  thing ;  and  the  same 
thing  had  somehow  never  been  the  same  thing. 

They  had  just  loved,  loved,  loved ;  and,  quite  given 
up  to  this  very  wise  occupation,  they  had  complete- 
ly forgotten  that  near  Lannilis,  in  the  old  resi- 
dence of  Chatellerault,  there  was  dear  old  Aunt 
Louise,  who  was  expecting  their  first  bridal  visit — a 
visit  which  was  due  her,  for  she  had  the  best  claim 
in  the  world,  on  account  of  her  eighty  -  four  years, 
her  kindness,  and  also  because  of  the  gift  of  a 
magnificent  pearl  necklace  to  Marceline. 

So  it  was  necessary  to  be  resigned,  to  leave  off 
dreaming,  and  to  come  back  to  reality ;  and  it  was 
during  this  visit  that,  before  the  old  aunt,  much 
amused  at  the  quarrel,  this  great  dispute  had 
abruptly  burst  forth  between  the  young  married 
couple. 

Aunt  Louise  had  accepted  the  position  of  arbi- 
trator, and,  presiding  over  the  discussion,  she  had 
made  the  two  contestants  sit  down  before  her  in 
arm-chairs,  at  a  respectful  distance.  Marceline, 
before  being  seated,  had  already  taken  the  floor. 

"  Every  one  agreed  upon  this  point  (you  know 
it,  Aunt  Louise  ;  mamma  must  often  have  told  you 
in  her  letters) — every  one  was  agreed  on  this  point : 
that  there  were  really  only  two  suitable  matches 


8  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

for  me — the  Duke  of  Lannilis  here  present,  and  the 
Duke  of  Courtalin.  I  had  the  weakness  to  prefer 
him — him  over  there.  Why  ?  I  can  scarcely  tell — 
a  childish  habit,  doubtless.  We  had  played  to- 
gether when  we  were  no  higher  than  that  at  being 
little  husband  and  wife.  I  had  remained  faithful  to 
that  childhood  love,  whereas  he — " 

"  Whereas  I—" 

"  All  in  due  season,  sir,  and  you  will  lose  nothing 
by  waiting.  However,  there  were  all  sorts  of  good 
reasons  for  preferring — the  other  one,  who  had  a 
larger  fortune  and  was  of  more  ancient  nobility." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that  —  in  money,  maybe,  but  as  to 
birth—" 

"  It  is  indisputable !  You  are  both  dukes  by 
patent." 

"  We  in  1663." 

"  And  the  Courtalin—" 

"In  1666  only." 

"  Agreed." 

"  Well,  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  just  wait !  I  am  posted  on  the  question  ; 
mamma  studied  it  thoroughly  when  things  looked, 
three  months  ago,  as  if  I  should  be  Duchess  of 
Courtalin.  One  morning  mamma  went  to  the  ar- 
chives with  an  old  friend  of  hers,  a  great  historian, 
who  is  a  member  of  the  Institute.  You  date  from 


ONLY    A   WALTZ  g 

1663,  and  the  Courtalin  from  1666;  that  is  correct. 
But  Louis  XIV.,  in  1672,  by  a  special  edict,  gave  the 
precedence  to  the  Courtalins;  and  you  have  not, 
I  suppose,  any  idea  of  disputing  what  Louis  XIV. 
thought  best  to  do.  Now,  Aunt  Louise,  can  he  ?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  But  Saint  Simon—" 

"  Oh,  let  us  leave  Saint  Simon  alone  ;  he  is  preju- 
dice and  inaccuracy  itself !  I  know  he  is  on  your 
side,  but  that  doesn't  count ;  but  I  will,  to  be  agree- 
able to  you,  acknowledge  that  you  are  better  look- 
ing and  taller  than  M.  de  Courtalin — " 

"  But—" 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  begin  to  see  !  You  are  dying 
for  me  to  tell  you  that.  Well,  yes,  you  are  a  fairly 
handsome  man  ;  but  that  is  only  a  very  perishable 
advantage,  and  you  have  too  much  respect  for  con- 
ventionalities to  wish  to  make  that  equal  to  the  de- 
cree of  Louis  XIV.  However,  I  loved  you — I  loved 
you  faithfully,  tenderly,  fondly,  stupidly ;  yes,  stu- 
pidly, for  when  I  had  come  out  in  society,  the  year 
before,  in  April,  1889,  at  Mme.  de  Fresnes's  ball, 
when  I  had  allowed  my  poor,  little,  thin  shoulders 
to  be  seen  for  the  first  time  (I  must  have  been  about 
seventeen),  I  noticed  that  the  young  marriageable 
men  in  our  set  (they  are  all  quoted,  noted,  and  la- 
belled) drew  away  from  me  with  strange,  respectful 


10  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

deference.  I  appeared  to  be  of  no  importance  or 
interest,  in  spite  of  my  name,  my  dowry,  and  my 
eyes.  You  see,  I  had  singed  myself.  I  had  so  ri- 
diculously advertised  my  passion  for  you  that  I  no 
longer  belonged  to  myself;  I  was  considered  as 
belonging  to  you.  As  soon  as  I  had  put  on  my 
first  long  dress,  which  gave  me  at  once  the  right  to 
think  of  marriage  and  speak  of  love,  I  had  told  all 
my  friends  that  I  loved,  and  would  never  love  or 
marry  any  one  but  you — you  or  the  convent.  Yes, 
I  had  come  to  that !  My  friends  had  told  their 
brothers  and  cousins,  who  had  repeated  it  to  you 
(just  what  I  wanted),  but  it  put  me  out  of  the  race. 
Dare  to  say,  sir,  that  it  is  not  all  true,  strictly  true  !" 

"  I  am  saying  nothing — " 

"  Because  you  are  overcome,  crushed  by  the  evi- 
dence. You  say  nothing  now,  but  what  did  you 
say  last  year  ?  Last  year !  When  I  think  that  we 
could  have  been  married  since  last  year  !  A  year, 
a  whole  year  lost !  And  it  was  so  long,  and  it  could 
have  been  so  short !  Well,  he  was  there,  at  the  k 
Fresnes'  ball.  He  condescended  to  do  me  the  honor 
of  dancing  three  times  with  me.  I  came  home  in- 
toxicated, absolutely  intoxicated  with  joy.  But  that 
great  happiness  did  not  last  long,  for  this  is  what 
that  Gontran  the  next  day  said  to  his  friend  Robert 
d'Aigremont,  who  told  his  sister  Gabrielle,  who  re- 


ONLY   A   WALTZ  II 

peated  it  to  me,  that  he  saw  clearly  that  they  wished 
to  marry  him  to  his  cousin  Marceline.  I  had,  the 
day  before,  literally  thrown  myself  into  his  arms ; 
he  had  thought  right,  from  pure  goodness  of  heart, 
to  show  some  pity  for  the  love  of  the  little  school- 
girl, so  he  had  resolved  to  dance  with  me ;  but  he 
had  done,  quite  done — he  wouldn't  be  caught  again. 
He  would  keep  carefully  away  from  coming-out 
balls  ;  they  were  too  dangerous  a  form  of  gayety. 
Marriage  did  not  tempt  him  in  the  least.  He  had 
not  had  enough  of  a  bachelor's  life  yet — besides,  he 
knew  of  nothing  more  absurd  than  those  marriages 
between  cousins.  The  true  pleasure  of  marriage,  he 
said,  must  be  to  put  into  one's  life  something  new 
and  unexpected,  and  to  call  by  her  first  name,  all 
at  once,  on  Tuesday  morning,  a  person  whom  one 
didn't  so  call  Monday  night.  But  a  person  whom 
one  already  knew  well,  where  would  be  the  pleas- 
ure ?  He  made  a  movement,  Aunt  Louise,  did  you 
see  ?" 

"  I  saw—" 

"  He  recognized  the  phrase." 

"  True.     I  remember — " 

"  Ah  !  but  you  did  not  say  that  phrase  only — you 
said  all  the  others.  But  that  is  nothing  as  yet,  Aunt 
Louise.  Do  you  know  what  was  his  principal  ob- 
jection to  a  marriage  with  me  ?  Do  you  know  what 


12  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

he  told  Robert  ?  That  he  had  seen  me  in  evening- 
dress  the  night  before  for  the  first  time,  and  that  I 
was  too  thin !  Too  thin  !  Ah  !  that  was  a  cruel 
blow  to  me  !  For  it  was  true.  I  was  thin.  The 
evening  after  Gabrielle  had  told  me  that  awful  fact, 
that  evening  in  undressing  I  looked  at  my  poor  lit- 
tle shoulders,  with  their  poor  little  salt-cellars,  and 
I  had  a  terrible  spasm  of  sorrow — a  flood  of  tears 
that  wouldn't  stop — a  torrent,  a  real  torrent ;  and 
then  mamma  appeared.  I  was  alone,  disrobed,  hair 
flying,  studying  my  shoulders,  deploring  their  mea- 
greness — a  true  picture  of  despair !  Mamma  took 
me  in  her  arms.  '  My  angel,  my  poor  dear,  what  is 
the  matter?'  I  answered  only  by  sobbing.  'My 
child,  tell  me  all.'  Mamma  was  very  anxious,  but 
I  could  not  speak ;  tears  choked  my  voice.  '  My 
dearest,  do  you  wish  to  kill  me  ?'  So  to  reassure 
mamma  I  managed  to  say  between  my  sobs :  '  I 
am  too  thin,  mamma;  last  night  Gontran  thought 
me  too  thin !'  At  that  mamma  began  to  laugh 
heartily ;  but  as  she  was  good-humored  that  even- 
ing, after  laughing  she  explained  to  me  that  she, 
at  seventeen,  had  been  much  thinner  than  I,  and 
she  promised  me  in  the  most  solemn  manner  that 
I  should  grow  stouter.  Mamma  spoke  true;  I 
have  fattened  up.  Will  you  have  the  goodness,  sir, 
to  declare  to  our  aunt  that  the  salt-cellars  have  en- 


ONLY  A   WALTZ  13 

tirely  disappeared,  and  that  you  cannot  have  against 
me,  in  that  respect,  any  legitimate  cause  of  com- 
plaint ?" 

"  I  will  declare  so  very  willingly ;  but  you  will  per- 
mit me  to  add — " 

"  I  will  permit  you  no  such  thing.  I  have  the 
floor,  let  me  speak;  but  you  will  soon  have  a  chance 
to  justify  yourself.  I  intend  to  put  you  through  a 
little  cross-questioning." 

"  I'll  wait,  then—" 

"  Yes,  do.  So  last  spring  I  began  my  first  cam- 
paign. I  do  not  know,  Aunt  Louise,  what  the  cus- 
toms were  in  your  time,  but  I  know  that  to-day,  at 
the  present  time,  the  condition  of  young  girls  is  one 
of  extreme  severity.  We  are  kept  confined,  closely 
confined,  till  eighteen,  for  mamma  was  very  indul- 
gent in  bringing  me  out  when  I  was  only  seventeen ; 
but  mamma  is  goodness  itself,  and  then  she  isn't 
coquettish  for  a  sou — she  didn't  mind  admitting  that 
she  had  a  marriageable  daughter.  All  mothers  are 
not  like  that,  and  I  know  some  who  are  glad  to  put 
off  the  public  and  official  exhibition  of  their  poor 
children  so  as  to  gain  a  year.  At  the  same  time 
that  they  race  at  Longchamps  and  Chantilly  the 
great  fillies  of  the  year,  they  take  from  their  boxes 
the  great  heiresses  of  the  year  who  are  ripe  for  mat- 
rimony, and  in  a  series  of  white  balls  given  for  that 


14  PARISIAN  POINTS  OF  VIEW 

purpose,  between  Easter  Sunday  and  the  Grand 
Prix,  they  are  made  to  take  little  trial  gallops  before 
connoisseurs.  They  have  to  work  rapidly  and  find 
a  buyer  before  the  Grand  Prix ;  for  after  that  all  is 
up,  the  young  girls  are  packed  back  to  their  gov- 
ernesses, dancing- masters,  and  literary  professors. 
The  campaign  is  over.  That  is  all  for  the  year. 
They  are  not  seen  again,  the  poor  things,  till  after 
Lent.  So  mamma  took  me  last  year  to  a  dozen 
large  balls,  which  were  sad  and  sorrowful  for  me. 
He  was  not  there  !  He  didn't  wish  to  marry  !  He 
told  it  to  every  one  insolently,  satirically.  He 
would  never,  never,  never  marry !  He  told  it  to 
me." 

"  At  your  mother's  request." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true.  I  know  since  that  it  was  at 
mamma's  petition  that  he  talked  that  way;  she 
hoped  it  would  prevent  my  being  stubborn  in  my 
craze  for  him." 

"  Craze !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Louise. 

"  Excuse  me,  Aunt  Louise,  it  is  a  word  of  to-day." 

"  And  means — " 

"  It  means  a  sort  of  unexplainable,  absurd,  and 
extravagant  love  that  comes  without  its  being  pos- 
sible to  know  why — in  short,  Aunt  Louise,  exactly 
the  love  I  have  for  him." 

"  Much  obliged !     But  you  do  not  tell  everything. 


ONLY   A   WALTZ  15 

You  do  not  say  that  your  mother  desired  your  mar- 
riage with  Courtalin — " 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  mamma  was  quite  right  M.  de 
Courtalin  has  a  thousand  sterling  merits  that  you 
have  not — that  you  will  never  have;  and  then  M.  de 
Courtalin  had  a  particularly  good  point  in  mamma's 
eyes :  he  did  not  find  me  too  thin,  and  he  asked  for 
my  hand  in  marriage.  One  day  about  four  o'clock 
(that  was  the  2d  of  June  last  year)  mamma  came 
into  my  room  with  an  expression  on  her  face 
I  had  never  seen  before.  '  My  child,'  she  said — 
'  my  dear  child !'  She  had  no  need  to  finish  ;  I  had 
understood.  M.  de  Courtalin  all  the  evening  be- 
fore, at  the  Princess  de  Viran's,  had  hovered  about 
me,  and  the  next  day  his  mother  had  come  to  de- 
clare to  mamma  that  her  son  knew  of  nothing  more 
delightful  than  my  face.  I  answered  that  I  knew 
of  nothing  less  delightful  than  M.  de  Courtalin's 
face.  I  added  that,  besides,  I  was  in  no  hurry  to 
marry.  Mamma  tried  to  make  me  hear  reason.  I 
was  going  to  let  slip  an  admirable  chance.  The 
Duke  of  Courtalin  was  the  target  of  all  the  ambitious 
mothers  —  a  great  name,  a  great  position,  a  great 
fortune  !  I  should  deeply  regret  some  day  to  have 
shown  such  disdain  for  advantages  like  these,  etc. 
And  to  all  these  things,  which  were  so  true  and 
sensible,  I  could  find  only  one  word  to  say :  his 


l6  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

name,  Gontran,  Gontran,  Gontran  !  Gontran  or  the 
convent,  and  the  most  rigorous  one  of  all,  the  Car- 
mel,  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  !  Oh,  Aunt  Louise,  do 
look  at  him !  He  listens  to  all  this  with  an  unbear- 
able little  air  of  fatuity." 

"  You  have  forbidden  me  to  speak." 
"  True.  Don't  speak ;  but  you  have  deserved  a  lit- 
tle lesson  in  modesty  and  humility.  Good  gracious ! 
you  think  perhaps  it  was  for  your  merits  that  I  chose 
you,  insisted  on  you.  You  would  be  far  from  the 
mark,  my  poor  dear.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  because 
of  your  want  of  merit.  Now,  as  to  M.  de  Courtalin. 
Why,  there  is  a  man  of  merit !  I  had,  from  morn- 
ing to  night,  M.  de  Courtalin's  merit  dinned  into 
my  ears,  and  that  was  why  I  had  taken  a  dislike  to 
him.  What  I  dreaded  more  than  anything  for  a 
husband  was  what  is  called  a  superior  man;  and 
mamma  went  the  wrong  way  to  work  to  win  me 
over  to  her  candidate  when  she  said  to  me :  '  He  is 
a  very  intelligent,  very  serious,  very  deep-thinking, 
and  very  distinguished  man ;  he  has  spent  his 
youth  honorably;  he  has  been  a  model  son,  and 
would  make  a  model  husband.'  It  made  me  shiver 
to  hear  mamma  talk  so.  I  know  nothing  more 
awful  than  people  who  are  always,  always  right; 
who,  under  all  circumstances,  give  evidence  of  un- 
failing good  sense ;  who  crush  us  with  their  superi- 


ONLY    A    WALTZ  17 

ority.  With  Gontran  I  am  easy,  quite  easy.  It 
isn't  he  who  would  crush  me  with  his  superiority. 
I  do  not  know  much,  Aunt  Louise,  but  my  igno- 
rance beside  his  is  learning.  He  had  great  trouble 
in  getting  his  baccalaureate.  He  flunked  three 
times." 

"  Flunked  !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Louise. 

"  It  means  failed.  He  taught  me  the  word.  All 
the  queer  words  I  use,  Aunt  Louise,  were  taught 
me  by  him." 

"  Come,  now — " 

"Yes,  all.  I  can  see  him  now,  coming  to  the 
house  one  day,  and  I  can  hear  him  say,  '  Flunked 
again!'  That  was  the  third  time.  Then  he  went 
and  took  his  examination  in  the  country  at  a  little 
college  at  Douai ;  it  was  easier,  and  he  passed  at 
last.  M.  de  Courtalin  has  never  been  flunked  ;  he 
is  everything  that  one  can  be  at  his  age  :  bachelor, 
advocate,  lawyer,  and  grave,  exact,  and  severe  in 
his  language,  and  dressed  —  always  in  a  black 
frock-coat,  with  two  rows  of  buttons,  always  all 
buttoned — in  short,  a  man  of  the  p?.st.  And  what  a 
future  before  him  !  Already  a  member  of  the  Gen- 
eral Council,  and  very  eloquent,  very  influential, 
he  will  be  deputy  in  three  years,  and  then,  when 
we  have  a  government  that  people  of  our  class  can 
recognize,  minister,  ambassador,  and  I  know  not 


18  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

what !  The  highest  offices  wait  for  him,  and  all 
his  ambitions  will  be  legitimate  when  he  has  a 
chance  to  put  his  superior  talents  at  the  service  of 
the  monarchy.  That's  one  of  mamma's  phrases. 
Whereas  you,  my  poor  Gontran — you  will  never  be 
anything  other  than  a  very  funny  and  very  nice 
old  dear,  whom  I  shall  lead  as  I  like  with  my  little 
finger." 

"Oh!  oh!" 

"  You  will  see.  Besides,  you  have  seen  for  eight 
days." 

"The  first  eight  days  don't  count." 

"  I  will  continue,  rest  assured.  I  love  you,  be- 
sides. I  love  you,  and  do  you  know  why  ?  It  is  be- 
cause you  are  not  a  man  of  the  past ;  you  are  dis- 
tinctly modern,  very  modern.  Look  at  him,  Aunt 
Louise.  Isn't  he  very  nice,  very  well  turned  out, 
very  modern,  in  fact — I  repeat  it — in  his  little  pearl- 
gray  suit.  He  is  devoted  to  his  clothes.  He  con- 
sults for  hours  and  hours  with  his  tailor,  which 
delights  me,  for  I  intend  to  consult  for  hours  and 
hours  with  my  dress-maker.  And  he  will  pay  the 
bills  without  a  tremor,  for  he  will  be  charmed  to  see 
me  very  stylish  and  very  much  admired.  Ah,  we 
shall  make  the  most  brilliant  and  most  giddy  little 
couple  !  He  is  modern,  I  shall  be  modern,  we  shall 
be  modern !  After  three,  four,  or  five  weeks  (we 


ONLY  A   WALTZ  ig 

do  not  know  exactly)  dedicated  to  pure  love,  we 
shall  take  flight  towards  the  country,  where  one  has 
a  good  time ;  and  then  we  shall  be  talked  about, 
Aunt  Louise,  we  shall  be  talked  about.  And  now, 
where  was  I  in  my  story  ?  I  am  sure  I  do  not 
know  at  all." 

"  Nor  I." 

"Nor  I." 

"  Ah,  I  know.  Mme.  de  Courtalin  had  come  to 
ask  my  hand  for  her  honorable  son,  and  when 
mamma  had  spoken  to  me  of  that  I  had  ex- 
claimed, '  Sooner  the  convent !'  I  do  not  know 
exactly  what  mamma  said  to  Mme.  de  Courtalin — 
at  any  rate,  I  was  left  alone  for  the  time  being. 
There  was  a  rush  to  the  Grand  Prix,  and  then  a 
general  breaking-up.  We  went  to  spend  a  month 
at  Aix-les-Bains  for  papa's  complaint,  and  then  a 
fortnight  here,  Aunt  Louise  ;  and  then,  do  you  re- 
member, you  received  the  confessions  of  my  poor 
torn  heart.  Ah!  I  must  say  you  are  the  only 
young  member  of  the  family — you  were  the  only 
one  who  did  not  make  a  long  face  when  I  spoke  of 
my  love  for  that  rogue.  Mamma,  however,  had 
preached  to  you,  and  you  vaunted  the  advantages 
of  an  alliance  with  Courtalin,  but  without  convic- 
tion. I  felt  that  you  were  at  bottom  on  my  side 
against  mamma,  and  it  was  so  easily  explained — 


20  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

mamma  could  not  understand  me,  whereas  you ! 
They  think  we  little  girls  know  nothing,  and  we 
know  everything.  I  knew  that  mamma  had  made  a 
worldly  marriage,  which  had,  however,  turned  out 
very  well ;  and  you,  Aunt  Louise,  had  married  for 
love.  You  must  have  battled  to  get  the  husband 
you  wished,  and  you  had  him,  and  you  resolutely 
conquered  your  happiness.  Yes,  I  knew  all  that ; 
I  dared  even  to  allude  to  those  things  of  the  past, 
and  those  memories  brought  a  smile  to  your  lips 
and  tears  to  your  eyes.  And  to-day  again,  Aunt 
Louise,  there  it  is,  the  smile,  and  there  are  the 
tears." 

Marceline  interrupted  her  talk,  affectionately 
threw  herself  on  her  Aunt  Louise's  neck,  and  kissed 
her  with  all  her  heart.  She  wiped  away  the  tears 
with  kisses,  and  only  the  smile  remained.  Yes, 
Aunt  Louise  remembered  that  she  had  had  hard 
work  to  get  as  husband  a  certain  handsome  offi- 
cer of  the  Royal  Guard,  who  was  there  present  at 
the  scene,  in  an  old  decorated  frame,  standing  up 
with  his  helmet  on  his  head  in  a  martial  attitude, 
leaning  on  the  hilt  of  his  cavalry  sabre. 

He,  too,  had  been  modern,  that  conqueror  of  the 
Trocadero,  when  he  entered  Madrid  in  1822  on  the 
staff  of  the  Duke  of  Angouleme.  And  she,  too,  old 
Aunt  Louise,  had  been  modern,  very  modern,  the 


ONLY    A    WALTZ  21 

day  when,  from  a  window  of  the  Palace  of  the  Tui- 
leries,  during  a  military  parade,  she  had  murmured 
this  phrase  in  her  mother's  ear :  "  Mamma,  there  is 
the  one  I  love." 

"  Ah,  how  cowardly  we  are !"  exclaimed  Marce- 
line,  abruptly,  changing  her  tone.  "  Yes,  how  cow- 
ardly we  are  to  love  them — those,  those  dreadful 
men,  who  know  so  little  how  to  care  for  us.  I  say 
that  for  Gontran.  What  was  he  doing  while  I 
was  telling  you  my  sorrows,  Aunt  Louise  ?  Quite 
calmly  taking  a  trip  around  the  world.  But  let  him 
speak  now,  let  him  speak,  especially  as  I  cannot 
any  more.  In  all  my  life  I  have  never  made  so 
long  a  speech.  Speak,  sir;  why  were  you  going 
round  the  world  ?" 

"Because  your  mother,  on  the  morning  of  the 
day  before  you  departed  for  Aix-les-Bains,  had  had 
a  very  long  conversation  with  me." 

"  And  she  had  said  to  you  ?" 

"  She  had  said  to  me, '  Put  a  stop  to  this ;  marry 
her  or  go  away,  and  let  her  not  hear  of  you  again 
till  her  marriage.'  And  as  I  had  for  some  time 
been  debating  whether  to  take  a  little  trip  to  Japan, 
I  started  for  Japan." 

"  He  started  for  Japan  !  That  goes  without  say> 
ing.  You  hear  him,  Aunt  Louise ;  he  admits  that 
this  time  last  year  he  preferred  to  expatriate  him- 


22  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

self  rather  than  marry  me.  So  there  he  was  in 
America,  in  China,  and  in  Japan.  This  lasted  ten 
months ;  from  time  to  time,  humbly  and  timidly,  I 
asked  for  news  of  him.  He  was  very  well ;  his 
last  letter  was  from  Shanghai,  or  Sidney,  or  Java. 
For  me,  not  a  word,  not  a  remembrance — nothing, 
nothing,  absolutely  nothing !" 

"  I  had  promised  your  mother.  One  day  at  Yo- 
kohama I  had  bought  you  a  lot  of  fascinating  lit- 
tle things.  The  box  was  done  up  and  addressed  to 
you  when  I  remembered  my  promise.  I  sent  all 
those  Japaneseries  to  your  mother,  thinking  that 
you  would  have  your  share  of  the  spoil." 

"  I  had  nothing  at  all.  The  arrival  of  the  box 
was  kept  a  secret.  It  would  have  been  necessary 
to  have  pronounced  your  name  before  me,  and 
mamma  didn't  wish  that.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
was  always  one  name  on  her  lips — Courtalin.  Still 
Courtalin,  and  always  Courtalin.  He  had  all  quali- 
ties, all  virtues.  Then  he  had  just  lost  his  aunt 
in  Brittany,  and  he  had  inherited  something.  It 
was  thought  that  he  would  only  have  a  quarter  of 
the  property,  and  he  had  had  three-quarters.  Be- 
sides, it  was  a  country-seat,  and  all  around  this 
seat,  an  admirable  domain,  sixteen  or  seventeen 
hundred  hectares.  I  say  it  to  my  shame,  Aunt 
Louise,  to  my  great  shame,  the  thought  of  giving 


ONLY  A   WALTZ  23 

in  came  to  me ;  and  then,  to  be  absolutely  frank, 
it  rather  pleased  me  to  become  a  duchess  ;  so 
mamma  made  me  out  a  list  of  all  possible  hus- 
bands for  me,  and  there  was  no  other  duke  in  the 
list  but  M.  de  Courtalin.  There  was,  of  course, 
the  little  Count  of  Limiers,  who  would  be  duke 
some  day.  But  when  ?  His  father  is  forty-five  and 
an  athlete,  and  has  an  iron  constitution.  So  I  was 
obliged  to  admit  it  when  I  talked  it  over  with 
mamma  in  the  evening.  To  be  duchess  it  was 
necessary  to  agree  on  M.  de  Courtalin.  Mamma, 
however,  was  perfect,  and  delightfully  gentle.  She 
did  not  press  me,  nor  treat  me  harshly,  nor  torment 
me ;  she  waited.  Only  I  knew  she  had  said  to 
Mme.  de  Nelly :  '  It  will  be  accomplished,  my  dear, 
before  the  2oth  of  June.  It  must  be.'  Papa 
was  obliged  to  return  to  Aix  for  his  complaint. 
The  2oth  of  June  was  the  date  for  his  depart- 
ure. I  no  longer  said,  '  No,  no,  no !'  with  that  sav- 
age energy  of  the  year  before.  You  see,  Gontran, 
I  open  my  whole  heart  to  you ;  you  will  have,  I 
hope,  soon  the  same  courage  and  sincerity." 

"  You  may  be  sure  of  it." 

"  I  was  waiting,  however — I  was  waiting  for  his 
return.  I  wished  to  have  with  him  a  very  serious 
conversation.  It  is  quite  true  that  I  felt  like  faint- 
ing with  fear  at  the  mere  thought  of  that  explana- 


24  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

tion ;  but  I  was  none  the  less  resolved  to  speak,  and 
I  would  speak.  It  seemed  to  me  impossible  that 
he  had  not  thought  of  me  sometimes  out  there  in 
China  and  Cochin  China.  We  had  always  loved 
each  other  (till  the  unhappy  day  on  which  I  had 
become  marriageable)  with  a  tender  and  faithful 
affection !  I  knew  that  he  would  arrive  in  Paris 
during  the  night  of  the  2d  or  3d  of  April.  Very 
certainly  the  day  after  he  would  come  and  see  us. 
And  so,  in  fact,  towards  two  o'clock  he  came. 
Mamma  hadn't  finished  dressing ;  I  was  alone.  I 
ran  to  him.  '  Ah,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you !'  and 
I  kissed  him  with  effusion.  Then  he,  very  much 
moved,  yes,  very  much  moved,  kissed  me,  and  be- 
gan to  say  to  me  such  nice  and  pretty  things  that  I 
felt  my  heart  melting.  Ah,  if  mamma  hadn't  come 
for  five  minutes — I  would  only  have  asked  for  five 
minutes!  —  and  how  quickly  it  would  have  turned 
into  love-making  our  little  explanation  !" 

"  Yes,  that  is  true.  The  impulse  that  threw  you 
into  my  arms  was  so  sincere.  Ah,  very  certainly 
it  was  that  day,  at  that  moment,  that  I  began  to  love 
you.  And  then  I  looked  at  you.  You  were  no 
longer  the  same.  There  was  such  great  and  happy 
change." 

"  He  does  not  dare  say  it,  Aunt  Louise,  but  I 
will  say  it :  I  had  become  fatter.  Ah,  when  I 


ONLY   A   WALTZ  25 

think  that  I  might  be  Duchess  of  Courtalin  if  I 
had  remained  thin.  Those  men  1  Those  men  ! 
What  wretches  !  But  mamma  came  in,  then  papa, 
and  then  my  brother  George.  No  explanation  pos- 
sible !  There  they  all  were  engaged  in  an  odious 
conversation  on  the  comparative  merits  of  the 
English  and  French  boats — the  English  ones  are 
faster,  the  food  on  the  French  ones  is  better,  etc. 
It  was  charming  !  At  the  end  of  an  hour  Gontran 
went  away,  but  not  without  giving  me  a  very  tender 
and  eloquent  hand-shake.  I  could  wish  nothing 
more  speaking  than  that  hand-shake.  But  mamma, 
who  was  observing  us  attentively,  had  clearly  seen 
our  two  hands,  after  having  found  a  way  to  say 
very  pleasant  things,  had  had  a  great  deal  of  trou- 
ble in  separating.  I  expected,  of  course,  to  see  him 
the  next  day.  Did  you  come  ?" 

"  No." 

v 

"  And  the  day  after  that  ?" 

"  No,  nor  then." 

"  At  last,  after  three  days,  mamma  took  me  to 
the  races  at  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  We  arrived, 
and  there  at  once,  two  steps  from  me,  I  saw  him. 
But  no,  it  was  no  longer  he ;  frigid  greeting,  frigid 
good-day,  frigid  hand-shake,  frigid  words,  and  very 
few  of  them  —  scarcely  a  few  sentences,  awkward 
and  embarrassed.  Then  he  was  lost  in  the  crowd, 


26  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

and  that  was  all.  He  did  not  appear  again.  I 
was  dumfounded,  overcome,  crushed." 

"  But  it  was  your  mother  who — " 

"  Yes,  I  know  now;  but  I  did  not  know  that  day. 
Yes,  it  was  mamma.  Oh,  must  I  not  love  mamma 
to  have  forgiven  her  that  ?" 

"  She  had  come  to  me  very  early  in  the  morning 
the  day  after  the  very  eloquent  hand-shake  and 
there,  in  tears — yes,  literally  in  tears  (she  was  sob- 
bing)— she  had  appealed  to  my  sense  of  honor,  of 
delicacy,  of  integrity.  '  You  both  had,'  she  said  to 
me,  'yesterday,  on  seeing  each  other  again  after  a 
long  absence,  a  little  spasm  of  emotion.  That  is 
all  right ;  but  you  must  stop  there,  and  not  prolong 
this  foolishness.'  And,  just  as  I  was  going  to  pro- 
test :  '  Oh  yes  ;  foolishness  !'  '  Remember,  Marce- 
line's  happiness  is  at  stake.  You  have  no  right  to 
compromise  her.  You  come  back  from  China  all 
at  once,  and  your  abrupt  return  will  break  off  more 
sensible,  more  studied  arrangements.  M.  de  Cour- 
talin  is  thirty-four ;  he  is  a  man  of  great  knowledge 
and  wisdom.  However,  I  know  that  that  is  only  a 
secondary  consideration ;  but  love  passes  away,  and 
money  remains,  and  M.  de  Courtalin  is  richer,  very 
much  richer,  than  you.  With  him  Marceline  will 
have  quite  a  grand  position.  Whereas  you,  you 
know  how  I  love  you,  and  I  know  how  worthy  you 


ONLY   A    WALTZ  27 

are  of  being  loved.  You  are  charming,  charming, 
charming.'  It  was  your  mother  who  spoke  thus." 

"  I  know ;  I  know." 

" '  Yes,  charming ;  but  when  I  have  said  that,  I 
have  said  all.  So  I  will  ask  you  this  question,  and 
I  expect  from  you  a  faithful  answer :  Have  you 
those  solid  qualities  which  alone  can  make  a  hus- 
band, a  true  husband  ?  Marceline  is  a  little  light- 
headed, a  little  frivolous,  a  little  coquettish.'  It  is 
always  your  mother  who  is  speaking." 

"  I  know ;  I  know." 

"  I  was  embarrassed,  Aunt  Louise ;  it  seemed  to 
me  that  that  speech  was  not  without  reason.  I 
hadn't  a  very  high  idea  of  myself  as  a  husband, 
and  even  now  I  ask  myself — " 

"  Don't  ask  yourself  anything.  Be  an  affection- 
ate husband,  and  you  will  have  all  the  virtues. 
Nothing  simpler,  as  you  see.  You  can  go  on." 

"Well,  your  mother  was  so  skilfully  persuasive 
that  the  day  after,  at  the  races,  I  gave  that  cold 
greeting." 

"And  so  I,  that  same  day,  on  entering  the 
house,  threw  myself  into  mamma's  arms,  exclaim- 
ing, 'Yes,  I  am  willing  to  marry  M.  de  Courta- 
lin  !'  Ah,  how  many  times  between  that  day  and 
the  1 6th  of  May  I  threw  myself  into  mamma's 
arms!  I  did  nothing  else.  Mamma  got  used  to 


28  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

it,  and  never  saw  me  appear  without  mechanically 
opening  her  arms.  '  Yes,  I  am  willing,'  and  some- 
times, '  No,  I  am  not.'  But  the  '  No,  I  am  nots ' 
became  fewer  and  fewer.  M.  de  Courtalin,  be- 
sides, was  perfect ;  a  model  of  tact,  of  gentleness, 
and  of  resignation.  He  waited,  always  in  his  black 
frock-coat,  always  buttoned,  with  an  inexhaustible 
patience.  Mamma  was,  in  short,  pledged  to  Mme. 
de  Courtalin,  and  I  felt  the  circle  tighten  round 
me.  The  papers  announced,  in  a  covert  but  trans- 
parent way,  that  there  was  question  of  an  alliance 
between  two  families  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Ger- 
main, and  they  made  it  pretty  clear  that  it  con- 
cerned two  important  families.  I  already  received 
vague  congratulations,  and  I  dared  respond  only 
by  vague  denials.  The  morning  of  the  famous 
17th  of  May  mamma  had  said  to  me,  'Come, 
my  child,  don't  make  a  martyr  of  that  poor  boy. 
Since  it  is  to  be  "  yes,"  for  it  will  be  "  yes,"  you 
know  yourself,  say  "  yes  "  at  once.'  I  had  ob- 
tained only  a  miserable  respite  of  twenty  -  four 
hours  ;  and  things  were  thus  when,  still  on  the  i;th 
of  May,  mamma  and  I  arrived,  a  little  late  (after 
eleven),  at  Mme.  de  Vernieux's,  who  was  giving  a 
ball,  a  very  large  ball.  I  went  in,  and  I  had  at 
once  the  feeling  that  I  must  be  looking  extreme- 
ly well  that  evening.  They  formed  into  a  little 


ONLY  A   WALTZ  29 

hedge  along  my  way,  and  I  heard  a  little  '  oh !' 
of  surprise,  and  a  big  '  ah !'  of  admiration  which 
went  straight  to  my  heart.  I  had  had  already  in 
society  certain  successes,  but  never  any  as  marked 
as  that  one.  M.  de  Courtalin  came  towards  me. 
He  wished  to  engage  me  for  all  the  waltzes,  for  all 
the  quadrilles,  for  the  entire  evening,  for  the  night, 
for  life.  I  answered  him  :  '  Later,  presently,  we  will 
see.  I  feel  a  little  tired.'  The  fact  was  I  hadn't 
the  heart  to  dance.  Mamma  and  I  took  our  seats. 
A  waltz  began.  Mamma  scolded  softly :  '  Dance 
with  him,  my  child,  I  beg.'  I  didn't  listen  to  her. 
I  was  abstractedly  looking  around  the  room  when 
suddenly  I  saw  in  a  corner  two  eyes  fixed,  fasten- 
ed, pinioned  on  me — two  eyes  that  I  well  knew,  but 
that  I  had  some  difficulty  in  recognizing,  for  they 
were  tremendously  enlarged  by  a  sort  of  stupor." 

"  Say  by  overwhelming  admiration." 

"As  you  please  But  it  is  here,  Aunt  Louise, 
that  my  interrogation  will  begin.  Why  and  how 
were  you  there  ?  Where  had  you  dined,  Gontran  ?" 

"  At  the  club." 

"  And  what  did  you  intend  to  do  after  dinner  ? 
Come  to  Mme.  de  Vernieux's  ?" 

"No;  Robert  d'Aigremont  and  I  had  meant  to 
go  to  the  Bouffes-Parisiens." 

"  You  did  not  go  ?     Why  ?" 


30  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

"  We  had  telephoned  from  the  club  to  have  a 
box  ;  all  were  sold — " 

"  So  you  said  to  Robert — 

"  I  said  to  Robert,  '  Let's  play  bezique ;'  and  I 
was  beaten  by  one  of  those  streaks  of  bad  luck — 
34,000  points  in  a  dozen  games — so  thoroughly 
that  towards  half-past  ten  I  thought  that  bezique 
had  lasted  long  enough — " 

"  And  so—" 

"  And  so—" 

"  So  Robert  wished  to  bring  you  to  Mme.  de 
Vernieux's.  And  you  didn't  want  to  go !  If 
you  hadn't  come,  however,  and  if  there  had  been 
a  box  at  the  Bouffes-Parisiens,  or  if  you  had  won 
at  bezique,  my  marriage  with  M.  de  Courtalin 
would  have  been  publicly  announced  the  next  day." 

"  Yes,  but  I  came ;  and  there  I  was  in  the  cor- 
ner looking  at  you,  looking  at  you,  looking  at  you. 
It  was  you,  and  yet  not  you — " 

"  I,  immediately  on  seeing  the  way  you  were  look- 
ing at  me,  understood  that  something  extraordinary 
was  going  to  happen.  Your  eyes  shone,  burned, 
blazed !" 

"  Because  I  had  discovered  that  you  were  simply 
the  prettiest  woman  of  the  ball,  where  all  the  pret- 
tiest women  of  Paris  were.  Yes,  the  prettiest,  and 
such  shoulders,  such  shoulders !" 


ONLY  A  WALTZ  31 

"  Ripe  !  in  fact,  I  was  ripe  !" 

"  My  head  was  turned  at  once.  I  saw  Courtalin 
manoeuvring  and  trying  to  get  near  you.  I  under- 
stood that  there  was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  To 
reach  there  ahead  of  Courtalin  I  threw  myself  in- 
trepidly into  the  midst  of  the  room,  among  the  waltz- 
ers,  pushing  and  being  pushed.  I  forged  a  passage 
and  tore  into  rags  one  of  the  lace  flounces  of  Mme. 
de  Lornans  —  she  hasn't  yet  forgiven  me.  But  I 
got  there — I  got  there  before  Courtalin,  and  threw 
myself  on  you,  and  took  you  round  your  waist 
(I  can  still  hear  your  little  cry),  and  I  dragged 
you  off." 

"  Mamma  had  scarcely  time  to  scream  '  Marce- 
line,  Marceline !'  when  I  was  there  no  more.  He 
had  lifted  me  off,  and  carried  me  away;  and  we 
were  waltzing  wildly,  furiously ! — oh,  what  a  waltz  ! 
— and  he  was  saying  to  me  :  '  I  love  you !  I  adore 
you !  You  are  grace  and  beauty  itself !  There  is 
only  one  pretty  woman  here — you ;  and  it  is  I  who 
will  be  your  husband.  I,  do  you  hear  ?  I,  and  not 
another !'  And  I,  quite  suffocated  with  surprise, 
pleasure,  and  emotion,  allowed  myself  to  be  nearly 
carried  by  him,  but  I  kept  begging  him  to  speak 
lower.  'Anything  you  wish;  yes,  I  will  be  your 
wife ;  but  take  care — you  will  be  heard — you  will  be 
heard.' " 


32  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

"  That  is  what  I  wished ;  and  I  continued, '  I  love 
you  !  I  adore  you  !'  " 

"  Then  I,  absolutely  breathless  :  '  Not  so  fast. 
I  pray,  not  so  fast ;  I  shall  fall.  I  assure  you  ev- 
erything is  going  round,  everything  is  going  round. 
Let  us  stop.'  '  No,  no  ;  don't  let's  stop.  Keep  on 
still.  If  we  stop  your  mother  will  separate  us,  and 
I  have  still  so  many  things  to  say  to  you — so  many 
things,  so  many  things.  Swear  to  me  that  you  will 
be  my  wife.'  '  Yes,  I  swear  it ;  but  enough,  enough — ' 
I  was  smothering.  He  heard  nothing.  He  was 
going,  going  like  a  madman.  We  had  become  a 
hurricane,  a  whirlwind,  a  cyclone.  We  caused  sur- 
prise and  fright.  No  one  danced  any  more,  but 
looked  at  us.  And  he  held  me  so  close,  and  his 
face  was  so  near  my  face,  his  lips  so  near  my  lips, 
that  all  at  once  I  felt  myself  giving  way.  I  slipped, 
and  let  myself  into  his  arms.  A  cloud  passed 
before  my  eyes;  I  could  not  speak  nor  think; 
then  blankness.  Everything  had  disappeared  be- 
fore me  in  a  vertigo  not  too  disagreeable,  I  must 
say.  I  had  fainted,  absolutely  fainted." 

"  The  next  day  our  marriage  was  decided,  per- 
fectly decided.  Our  waltz  had  caused  scandal. 
That  was  just  what  I  wanted." 

"  There,  Aunt  Louise,  is  the  history  of  our  mar- 
riage, and  I  want  to-day  to  draw  this  conclusion : 


ONLY   A    WALTZ  33 

it  is  that  I  was  the  first  to  begin  to  love,  and  I  shall 
have,  consequently,  one  day,  when  it  pleases  me, 
the  right  to  stop  the  first." 

"  Ah,  no,  indeed ;  tell  her,  Aunt  Louise,  that  she 
will  never  have  that  right — " 

A  new  quarrel  threatened  to  break  out. 

"  This,  my  children,"  said  the  old  aunt,  "  is  all  I 
have  to  say :  she  did,  in  truth,  start  the  first  to  love ; 
but  it  seems  to  me,  Gontran,  that  you  started  all  at 
once  at  such  a  great  pace  that  you  must  have 
caught  up  with  her." 

"Passed  her,  Aunt  Louise." 

"  Oh  no  !"  exclaimed  Marceline. 

"  Oh  yes—" 

«  Oh  no—" 

"Well,"  continued  Aunt  Louise,  "try  never  to 
have  any  other  quarrels  than  that  one.  Try  to  walk 
always  in  life  step  by  step,  side  by  side,  and  heart 
to  heart.  I  have  seen  many  inventions  since  I  was 
born,  and  the  world  is  no  longer  what  it  was  then. 
But  there  is  one  thing  to  which  inventions  have 
made  no  difference,  and  never  will.  That  thing 
you  have ;  keep  it.  It  is  love !  Love  each  other, 
children,  as  strongly  and  as  long  as  possible." 

And  Aunt  Louise  wept  another  tear,  and  smiled 
on  looking  at  the  portrait  of  the  officer  of  the  Royal 
Guard. 


THE   DANCING-MASTER 


THE   DANCING-MASTER 

I  WAS  dining  at  the  house  of  some  friends,  and 
in  the  course  of  the  evening  the  hostess  said  to  me  : 

"  Do  you  often  go  to  the  opera  ?" 

"  Yes,  very  often." 

"  And  do  you  go  behind  the  scenes  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  go  behind." 

"  Then  you  can  do  me  a  favor.  In  the  ballet 
department  there's  an  old  man  called  Morin,  who 
is  perfectly  respectable,  it  seems.  He  is  the  little 
B 's  dancing -master.  He  gives  excellent  les- 
sons. I  should  like  to  have  him  for  my  little  girls, 
so  ask  him  if  he  could  come  twice  a  week." 

I  willingly  undertook  the  delicate  mission. 

The  next  day,  February  17,  1881,  about  ten  in 
the  evening,  I  arrived  at  the  opera,  and  went  be- 
hind the  scenes  to  search  for  Monsieur  Morin. 
"The  Prophet"  was  being  played,,  and  the  third 
act  had  just  begun.  On  the  stage  the  Anabaptists 
were  singing  forcibly : 

"  Du  sang  !  que  Judas  succombe  ! 
Du  sang !     Dansons  sur  leur  tombe  ! 


38  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

Du  sang  !     Voila  1'hecatombe 
Que  Dieu  nous  demande  encor !" 

Axes  were  raised  over  the  heads  of  a  crowd 
of  hapless  prisoners,  who  were  barons,  bishops, 
monks,  and  grand  ladies.  In  the  wings,  balanced 
on  their  skates,  all  the  ballet-girls  were  waiting  the 
right  moment  to 

"  Effleurer  la  glace 
Sans  laisser  de  trace." 

I  respectfully  begged  one  of  the  young  West- 
phalian  peasant -girls  to  point  out  to  me  the  man 
named  Morin. 

"  Morin,"  she  replied,  "  is  not  one  of  the  skaters. 
Look,  he  is  on  the  stage.  That's  he  over  there,  the 
one  who  is  doing  the  bishop ;  that  bishop,  you  see, 
who  is  being  pushed  and  pulled.  Wait,  he  will  be 
off  directly." 

One  of  the  Anabaptist  leaders  intervened,  how- 
ever, declaring  that  the  nobles  and  priests  who 
could  pay  ransom  should  be  spared.  Morin  es- 
caped with  his  life,  and  I  had  the  honor  of  being 
presented  to  him  by  the  little  Westphalian  peas- 
ant-girl. 

He  had  quite  a  venerable  air,  with  his  long  gray 
beard  and  his  fine  purple  robe  with  his  large  pas- 
toral cross.  While  he  was  arranging  somewhat 


THE   DANCING-MASTER  39 

his  costume,  which  had  been  so  roughly  pulled  by 
those  violent  Anabaptists,  I  asked  him  if  he  would 
be  willing  to  give  lessons  to  two  young  girls  of 
good  family. 

The  pious  bishop  accepted  with  alacrity.  His 
price  was  ten  francs  an  hour. 

The  little  skaters  had  gone  on  the  stage,  and 
were  performing  wonderful  feats.  The  wings  had 
suddenly  become  calm  and  silent.  We  gave  our- 
selves up,  his  Reverence  and  myself,  to  a  little 
friendly  chat. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  his  Highness  said  to  me,  "  I  give 
dancing  lessons.  I  have  many  patrons  among  the 
aristocracy  and  the  bankers.  I  have  no  reason  to 
complain ;  and  yet  one  must  admit  things  were 
better  once,  much  better.  Dancing  is  going  out, 
sir,  dancing  is  going  out." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?" 

"  It  is  as  I  have  the  honor  of  telling  you.  Wom- 
en still  learn  to  dance ;  but  no  longer  the  young 
men,  sir,  no  longer.  Baccarat,  races,  and  the  minor 
theatres — that's  what  they  enjoy.  It's  a  little  the 
fault  of  the  Government." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?" 

"  M.  Jules  Ferry  has  recently  rearranged  the 
curriculum  of  the  University.  He  has  made  cer. 
tain  studies  obligatory — modern  languages,  for  in- 


40  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

stance.  I  don't  blame  him  for  that ;  the  study  of 
modern  languages  has  great  advantages.  But  danc- 
ing, sir ;  nothing  has  been  done  for  dancing,  and  it 
is  dancing  which  ought,  after  all,  to  have  been  made 
obligatory.  There  ought  to  be  a  dancing -mas- 
ter in  every  high -school,  and  a  normal  -  school  for 
dancing  with  examinations  and  competitions  in 
dancing.  Dancing  ought  to  be  studied  the  same 
as  Latin  or  Greek.  Dancing,  too,  is  a  language, 
and  a  language  that  every  well-bred  man  ought  to 
be  able  to  speak.  Well,  do  you  know  what  happens 
nowadays  ?  Sometimes  it  happens,  sir,  that  diplo- 
matic posts  are  given  to  people  who  get  confused 
in  the  figures  of  a  quadrille,  and  who  are  incapable 
of  waltzing  for  two  minutes.  They  know  very  well 
that  their  education  is  incomplete.  Quite  lately  a 
young  man  came  to  me  —  a  young  man  of  great 
merit,  it  seems,  except  in  regard  to  dancing.  He 
had  just  been  attached  to  a  great  embassy.  He 
had  never  danced  in  his  life — never.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?  Never !  It  is  scarcely  to  be  credited,  and 
yet  it  is  true.  That's  the  way  M.  Barthelemy-Saint- 
Hilaire  picks  them  out.  Oh,  this  beard  smothers 
me !  Will  you  permit  me  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

He  took  off  his  gray  beard,  and  thus  looked  much 
less  venerable.  He  then  continued  : 


THE   DANCING-MASTER  41 

"  I  said  to  this  young  man  :  '  We  will  try,  but  it 
will  be  hard  work.  One  oughtn't  to  begin  dancing 
at  twenty-eight.'  I  limbered  him  up  as  best  I  could. 
I  had  only  two  weeks  to  do  it  in.  I  begged  him  to 
put  off  his  departure,  to  obtain  a  reprieve  of  three 
or  four  months — I  could  have  made  something  of 
him.  He  would  not.  He  went  without  knowing 
anything.  I  often  think  of  him.  He  will  represent 
us  out  there  ;  he  will  represent  us  very  badly ;  he  will 
not  be  an  honor  to  his  country.  Please  to  remem- 
ber that  he  may  be  called  upon  to  take  part  in  some 
official  quadrille — to  dance,  for  instance,  with  an 
archduchess.  Well,  if  he  slips  up  in  it,  with  his 
archduchess,  it  will  be  charming  !  All  this  is  very 
sad  indeed.  I  am  a  Republican,  sir,  an  old  Repub- 
lican, and  it  is  painful  to  think  that  the  republic  is 
represented  by  diplomats  who  cannot  distinguish 
between  a  change  of  foot  and  a  simple  step.  Do 
you  know  what  is  said  in  foreign  courts  ?  '  Why, 
who  are  those  savages  that  France  sends  us?' 
Yes,  that's  what  they  say.  The  diplomatic  corps 
in  the  time  of  the  Empire  was  not  brilliant.  Oh 
no ;  those  gentlemen  did  many  foolish  things.  Oh 
yes ;  but  still  they  knew  how  to  dance !" 

And  the  good  old  bishop,  seeing  that  I  listened 
with  much  interest,  went  on  with  his  brilliant  im- 
provisation. 


42  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

"  Dancing,  sir,  is  not  merely  a  pleasure,  an  amuse- 
ment ;  no,  it  is  of  great  social  interest.  Why,  the 
question  of  marriage  is  closely  connected  with  danc- 
ing. At  present,  in  France,  marriage  is  languish- 
ing. That  is  proved  by  statistics.  Well,  I  am  con- 
vinced that  if  there  are  fewer  marriages  it  is  because 
there  is  less  dancing.  Consider  this  first  of  all, 
that  to  know  how  to  dance  well,  very  well,  is,  for 
an  agreeable  young  man  who  is  without  fortune, 
a  great  advantage  in  society.  One  of  my  pupils, 
sir,  has  recently  married  extremely  well.  He  was 
a  very  ordinary  kind  of  youth,  who  had  tried  every- 
thing and  had  succeeded  in  nothing ;  but  he  was  a 
first-rate  waltzer,  and  he  danced  away  with  two 
millions." 

"  Two  millions !" 

"  Yes,  two  millions,  and  they  were  two  cash  mill- 
ions ;  she  was  an  orphan,  no  father  nor  mother — all 
that  can  be  dreamed  of.  He  clasped  that  young 
lady  (she  was  very  plump).  Well,  in  his  arms,  she 
felt  herself  light  as  a  feather.  She  thought  of  but 
one  thing — waltzing  with  him.  She  was  as  one 
wild.  He  gave  her  a  new  sensation,  and  what  is 
it  women  desire  above  all  things  ?  To  have  new 
sensations,  in  short,  she  refused  marquises,  counts, 
and  millionaires.  She  wanted  him  only.  She  got 
him,  and  he  was  penniless,  and  his  name  is  Du- 


THE   DANCING-MASTER  43 

rand.  Ah,  do  not  repeat  his  name ;  I  oughtn't  to 
have  told  you." 

"  Don't  be  afraid." 

"  After  all,  you  can  repeat  it ;  it  doesn't  matter,  it's 
such  a  common  name.  There  is  public  policy  in  love- 
matches  which  cause  a  rich  girl  to  marry  a  poor 
man,  or  a  poor  girl  to  marry  a  rich  man.  It  sets 
money  circulating,  it  prevents  its  remaining  in  the 
same  place,  it  keeps  capital  moving.  Well,  three- 
fourths  of  the  love  -  matches  were  formerly  made 
by  the  dance.  Now  there  are  short  interviews  in 
parlors,  in  galleries,  and  at  the  Opera  Comique. 
They  chat;  that's  all  right,  but  chatting  is  not 
sufficient.  Wit  is  something,  but  not  everything. 
A  waltz  furnishes  much  knowledge  that  conver- 
sation cannot.  Dress -makers  nowadays  are  so 
wily.  They  know  how  to  bring  out  this  point  and 
hide  that;  they  remodel  bad  figures.  They  give 
plumpness  and  roundness  to  the  thin ;  they  make 
hips,  shoulders — everything,  in  fact.  One  doesn't 
know  what  to  expect,  science  has  made  such  ad- 
vances. The  eye  may  be  deceived,  but  the  hand 
of  an  experienced  dancer  never!  A  waltzer  with 
tact  knows  how  to  find  out  the  exact  truth  about 
things." 

"Oh!  oh!" 

"  Remaining  all  the  time,  sir,  perfectly  respectful 


44  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

and  perfectly  reserved.  Good  heavens !  look  at 
myself,  for  instance.  It  is  to  waltzing  that  I  owe 
my  happiness.  Mme.  Morin  was  not  then  Mme. 
Morin.  I  kept  my  eye  on  her,  but  I  hesitated. 
She  appeared  thin,  and — well,  I'll  admit  that  to 
marry  a  thin  woman  didn't  suit  my  ideas.  You 
know  every  one  has  his  ideals.  So,  sir,  I  was 
still  hesitating,  when  one  evening,  at  the  wedding 
of  one  of  my  friends,  a  very  capable  young  man, 
a  deputy  manager  of  a  department  at  the  Min- 
istry of  Religion,  they  started  a  little  dance.  For 
the  first  waltz  I  asked  the  one  who  was  to  be  my 
companion  through  life.  Immediately  I  felt  in  my 
hand  a  delightful  figure — one  of  those  full  but  sup- 
ple figures ;  and  while  waltzing,  quite  enchanted,  I 
was  saying  to  myself,  '  She  isn't  really  thin  !  she 
isn't  really  thin !'  I  took  her  back  to  her  place 
after  the  waltz,  and  went  at  once  to  her  mother  to 
ask  for  her  hand,  which  was  granted  me.  For  four- 
teen years  I  have  been  the  happiest  of  men,  and 
perhaps  I  shouldn't  have  made  that  marriage  if  I 
hadn't  known  how  to  waltz.  You  see,  sir,  the  re- 
sults of  a  waltz  ?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  That  is  not  all,  sir.  Thanks  to  dancing,  one 
discovers  not  only  the  agreeable  points  of  a  per- 
son, the  fulness  of  her  figure,  the  lithesomeness  of 


THE   DANCING-MASTER  45 

her  waist,  but  also,  in  a  briskly  led  waltz,  a  little 
examination  of  the  health  and  constitution  of  a 
woman  can  be  had.  I  remember  one  evening 
twelve  or  so  years  ago — in  the  Rue  Le  Peletier,  in 
the  old  Opera-house,  which  has  burned  down — I 
was  on  the  stage  awaiting  my  cue  for  the  dance 
in  '  William  Tell,'  you  know,  in  the  third  act.  Two 
subscribers  were  talking  quite  close  to  me,  in  the 
wings.  One  of  the  gentlemen  was  an  old  pupil  of 
mine.  I  have  had  so  many  pupils  !  Without  wish- 
ing to,  I  heard  scraps  of  the  conversation,  and  these 
two  sentences  struck  my  ear :  '  Well,  have  you  de- 
cided ?'  '  Oh,'  replied  my  pupil,  '  I  find  her  very 
charming,  but  I  have  heard  that  she  is  weak  in  the 
lungs.'  Then,  sir,  I  did  a  very  unusual  thing  for 
me.  I  begged  pardon  for  having  heard  uninten- 
tionally, and  I  said  to  my  old  pupil :  '  I  think  I 
have  guessed  that  a  marriage  is  in  question.  Will 
you  authorize  me  to  give  you  a  piece  of  advice — 
advice  drawn  from  the  practice  of  my  profession  ? 
Do  they  allow  this  young  lady  to  waltz  ?'  You  know 
there  are  mothers  who  do  not  permit — " 

"  I  know,  I  know." 

"  My  pupil  answered  me, '  She  is  allowed.'  '  Well 
then,  sir,'  I  said  to  him,  'this  is  what  you  must 
do.  I  know  you.  I  know  what  you  are  worth  ;  you 
have  good  legs,  arms,  shoulders,  and  lungs.  Have 


46  PARISIAN   POINTS    OF   VIEW 

five  minutes'  waltz  with  that  young  lady  without 
giving  her  time  to  say  "  ouf !"  If  she  says  to  you, 
"  Enough,  sir,  enough !"  you  must  answer,  with 
a  sort  of  frenzy,  "  Oh  no,  mademoiselle !  more, 
more !"  That  will  flatter  her,  even  if  it  takes  her 
breath  away,  and,  at  the  end  of  a  good  five  minutes 
at  that  rate,  stop  short  and  lean  slightly  over  her 
shoulder  in  ecstasy — such  attitudes  are  permissible 
in  a  waltz — listen  to  her  breathing  behind  her  back. 
If  she  wheezes,  don't  marry;  but  if  you  hear  noth- 
ing, marry !' " 

We  had  arrived  at  this  point  in  that  interesting 
conversation  when  the  ballet  ended.  The  bishop 
and  myself  were  assailed  by  an  actual  whirlwind 
of  skaters,  and  my  little  Westphalian  peasant-girl 
found  me  where  she  had  left  me. 

"  I  declare !"  she  said  to  me,  "  so  you  come  to 
confess  at  the  opera?  Give  him  absolution,  Mo- 
rin,  and  give  it  to  me,  too.  Now  then,  come  along 
to  the  greenroom." 

She  took  my  arm,  and  we  went  off  together,  while 
the  excellent  Morin,  with  gravity  and  dignity  be- 
neath his  sacred  ornaments,  withstood  the  shock 
of  this  avalanche  of  dancers. 


THE   CIRCUS   CHARGER 


THE  CIRCUS  CHARGER 

AFTER  George  had  related  how  he  had  been  mar- 
ried off  at  twenty-two  by  his  aunt,  the  Baroness 
de  Stilb,  Paul  said  :  "  /was  married  off  by  a  circus 
charger.  I  was  very  nearly  forty  years  of  age,  and 
I  felt  so  peacefully  settled  in  my  little  bachelor 
habits  that,  in  the  best  faith  in  the  world,  on  all 
occasions,  I  swore  by  the  gods  never  to  run  the 
great  risk  of  marriage ;  but  I  reckoned  without  the 
circus  charger. 

"  It  was  in  the  last  days  of  September,  1864.  I 
had  just  arrived  from  Baden-Baden,  and  my  inten- 
tion was  to  spend  only  twenty-four  hours  in  Paris. 
I  had  invited  four  or  five  of  my  friends — Callieres, 
Bernheim,  Frondeville,  and  Valreas — to  my  place  in 
Poitou  for  the  shooting  season.  They  were  to 
come  in  the  first  part  of  October,  and  it  needed  a 
week  to  put  all  in  order  at  Roche-Targe.  A  letter 
from  my  overseer  awaited  me  in  Paris,  and  the 
letter  brought  disastrous  news ;  the  dogs  were  well, 
but  out  of  the  dozen  hunting  horses  that  I  had 
there,  five,  during  my  sojourn  at  Baden,  had  fallen 


50  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

sick  or  lame,  and  I  found  myself  absolutely  forced 
to  get  new  horses. 

"  I  made  a  tour  of  the  Champs-Elysees  sellers, 
who  showed  me  as  hunters  a  fine  collection  of 
broken-down  skeletons.  Average  price,  three 
thousand  francs.  Roulette  had  treated  me  badly  of 
late,  and  I  was  neither  in  the  humor,  nor  had  I  the 
funds,  to  spend  in  that  way  seven  or  eight  hundred 
louis  in  a  morning. 

"  It  was  a  Wednesday,  and  Cheri  was  holding  his 
first  autumn  sale.  I  went  to  the  Rue  de  Ponthieu 
during  the  day ;  and  there  out  of  the  lot,  on  chance, 
without  inquiry,  blindly,  by  good-luck,  and  from 
the  mere  declarations  of  the  catalogue — 'Excellent 
hunter,  good  jumper,  has  hunted  with  lady  rider,'  etc. 
— I  bought  eight  horses,  which  only  cost  me  five 
thousand  francs.  Out  of  eight,  I  said  to  myself, 
there  will  always  be  four  or  five  who  will  go,  and 
who  will  be  good  enough  to  serve  as  remounts. 

"Among  the  horses  there  was  one  that  I  had 
bought,  I  must  confess,  particularly  on  account  of 
his  coat,  which  was  beautiful.  The  catalogue  did 
not  attribute  to  him  any  special  qualifications  for 
hunting,  but  limited  itself  to  'Brutus,  riding  horse* 
He  was  a  large  dapple-gray  horse,  but  never,  I 
think,  have  I  seen  gray  better  dappled ;  the  white 
coat  was  strewn  almost  regularly  with  beautiful 


THE   CIRCUS   CHARGER  51 

black  spots,  which  were  well  distributed  and  well 
marked. 

"  I  left  town  the  next  day  for  Roche-Targe,  and 
the  following  day,  early,  they  announced  to  me  that 
the  horses  had  arrived.  I  at  once  went  down  to 
see  them,  and  my  first  glance  was  at  Brutus.  He 
had  been  trotting  in  my  head  for  forty-eight  hours, 
that  devil  of  a  gray  horse,  and  I  had  a  singular 
desire  to  know  what  he  was  and  of  what  he  was 
capable. 

"I  had  him  taken  out  of  the  stable  first.  A 
groom  led  him  to  me  with  a  strap.  The  horse  had 
long  teeth,  hollows  in  the  chest,  lumpy  fetlocks — in 
short,  all  the  signs  of  respectable  age ;  but  he  had 
powerful  shoulders,  a  large  breast,  a  neck  which 
was  both  strong  and  supple,  head  well  held,  tail 
well  placed,  and  an  irreproachable  back.  It  wasn't, 
however,  all  this  that  attracted  most  my  attention. 
What  I  admired  above  all  was  the  air  with  which 
Brutus  looked  at  me,  and  with  what  an  attentive, 
intelligent,  and  curious  eye  he  followed  my  move- 
ments and  gestures.  Even  my  words  seemed  to 
interest  him  singularly ;  he  inclined  his  head  to  my 
side  as  if  to  hear  me,  and,  as  soon  as  I  had  finished 
speaking,  he  neighed  joyously  in  answer. 

"  They  showed  me  successively  the  seven  other 
horses;  I  examined  them  rapidly  and  absent- 


52  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

mindedly.  They  were  horses  like  all  other  horses. 
Brutus  certainly  had  something  in  particular,  and  I 
was  anxious  to  make  in  his  company  a  short  jaunt 
in  the  country.  He  allowed  himself  to  be  saddled, 
bridled,  and  mounted  like  a  horse  who  knows  his 
busineL3,  and  so  we  both  started  in  the  quietest 
way  in  the  world. 

"  I  had  at  first  ridden  him  with  the  snaffle,  and 
Brutus  had  gone  off  at  a  long  easy  gait,  with 
rather  a  stiff  neck  and  projected  head ;  but  as 
soon  as  I  let  him  feel  the  curb,  he  changed  with 
extraordinary  rapidity  and  suppleness,  drawing  his 
head  back  to  his  breast,  and  champing  his  bit  nois- 
ily; then  at  the  same  time  he  took  a  short  gait, 
which  was  light  and  even,  lifting  well  his  feet  and 
striking  the  sod  with  the  regularity  of  a  pendulum. 

"  Cheri's  catalogue  had  not  lied ;  the  horse  was  a 
good  rider — too  good  a  rider,  in  fact.  I  made  him 
trot,  then  gallop ;  the  horse  at  the  first  suggestion 
gave  me  an  excellent  little  trot  and  an  excellent  lit- 
tle gallop,  but  always  plunging  to  the  ground  and 
pulling  my  arms  when  I  tried  to  lift  his  head. 
When  I  wished  to  quicken  his  gait,  the  horse 
broke  at  once.  He  began  to  rack  in  great  style, 
trotting  with  the  fore-feet  and  galloping  with  the 
hind  ones.  '  Well,'  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  see  now ; 
I've  bought  some  old  horse  of  the  Saumur  or 


THE   CIRCUS   CHARGER  53 

Saint-Cyr  school,  and  it's  not  on  this  beast  that 
I'll  hunt  in  eight  days.' 

"  I  was  about  to  turn  and  go  home,  quite  edified 
as  to  Brutus's  qualities,  when  the  report  of  a  gun 
was  heard  twenty  yards  away  in  the  woods.  It 
was  one  of  my  keepers  who  was  shooting  a  rabbit, 
and  who  received  some  time  after  a  handsome 
present  from  my  wife  for  that  shot. 

"  I  was  then  in  the  centre  of  the  cross-roads,  which 
formed  a  perfect  circle  of  five  or  six  yards  in  ra- 
dius ;  six  long  green  alleys  came  to  an  end  at  this 
spot.  On  hearing  the  report,  Brutus  had  stopped 
short,  planted  himself  on  his  four  legs,  with  ears 
erect  and  head  raised.  I  was  surprised  to  find  the 
horse  so  impressionable.  I  should  have  thought 
that  after  the  brilliant  education  that  very  certain- 
ly he  had  received  in  his  youth,  Brutus  must  be  an 
artillery  horse,  used  to  gun  and  cannon.  I  drew  in 
my  legs  to  urge  the  horse  on,  but  Brutus  didn't 
move ;  I  spurred  him  sharply  twice,  but  Brutus 
didn't  move ;  I  whipped  him  soundly,  but  Brutus 
didn't  move.  I  tried  to  back  the  horse,  to  push  him 
to  the  right,  to  the  left,  but  I  couldn't  move  him  in 
the  slightest  degree.  Brutus  seemed  glued  to  the 
ground,  and  yet — don't  you  dare  to  laugh,  and  be 
assured  that  my  tale  is  absolutely  true — each  time 
that  I  attempted  to  put  the  horse  in  motion  he 


54  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

turned  his  head  and  looked  at  me  with  an  expres- 
sion which  could  clearly  be  read  as  impatience 
and  surprise;  then  he  would  again  become  as  im- 
movable as  a  statue.  There  was  evidently  some 
misunderstanding  between  the  horse  and  myself. 
I  saw  that  in  his  eyes,  and  Brutus  said  to  me,  with 
all  the  clearness  he  could  put  in  his  expression,  '  I, 
as  a  horse,  am  doing  my  duty,  and  it's  you,  as  a 
rider,  who  are  not  doing  yours !' 

"  I  was  more  puzzled  than  embarrassed.  '  What 
extraordinary  kind  of  a  horse  have  I  bought  at 
Cheri's,'  I  said  to  myself,  '  and  why  does  he  look 
at  me  so  queerly  ?'  I  was,  however,  going  to  take 
strong  measures — that  is  to  say,  I  was  preparing  to 
whip  him  smartly — when  another  report  was  heard. 

"  Then  the  horse  gave  a  jump.  I  thought  I  had 
the  best  of  it,  and,  profiting  by  his  bound,  I  tried 
to  carry  him  forward  with  hand  and  knee.  But 
no;  he  stopped  short  after  his  bound,  and  again 
planted  himself  on  the  ground  more  energetically 
and  more  resolutely  than  the  first  time.  Ah,  then 
I  grew  angry,  and  my  whip  came  into  play ;  I 
grasped  it  firmly  and  began  to  strike  the  horse 
with  all  my  strength  to  the  right  and  left.  But 
Brutus,  he  too  lost  patience,  and,  instead  of  the 
cold  and  immovable  opposition  that  at  first  he 
had  shown,  I  met  with  furious  retaliations,  strange 


THE    CIRCUS    CHARGER  55 

springs,  bucking,  extraordinary  rearing,  fantastic 
whirling ;  and  in  the  midst  of  this  battle,  while  the 
infatuated  horse  bounded  and  reared,  while  I,  ex- 
asperated, struck  with  vigor  the  leather  pommel 
with  my  broken  whip,  Brutus  still  found  time  to 
give  me  glances  not  only  of  surprise  and  impati- 
ence, but  also  of  anger  and  indignation.  While  I 
was  asking  the  horse  for  the  obedience  which  he 
refused  me,  it  is  certain  that  he  expected  from  me 
something  that  I  was  not  doing. 

"  How  did  it  end  ?  To  my  shame,  to  my  great 
shame,  I  was  pitifully  unhorsed  by  an  incompar- 
able feat!  Brutus  understood,  I  think,  that  he 
would  not  get  the  better  of  me  by  violence,  and 
judged  it  necessary  to  try  cunning ;  after  a  pause 
which  was  most  certainly  a  moment  of  reflection, 
the  horse  rose  up,  head  down,  upright  on  his  fore- 
feet, with  the  skill,  the  calm,  and  the  perfect 
equilibrium  of  a  clown  who  walks  on  his  hands. 
Thus  I  tumbled  into  the  sand,  which,  by  good-luck, 
was  thick  in  that  spot. 

"  I  tried  to  get  up.  I  screamed  and  fell  back  ri- 
diculously, flat  on  my  stomach,  on  my  nose.  At  the 
slightest  movement  I  felt  as  though  a  knife  ran 
through  my  left  leg.  It's  a  slight  matter,  however— 
the  rupture  of  a  slender  sinew ;  but  though  slight,  the 
injury  was  none  the  less  painful.  I  succeeded,  nev- 


56  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

ertheless,  in  turning  over  and  sitting  up ;  but  just 
when,  while  rubbing  my  eyes,  filled  with  sand,  I 
was  beginning  to  ask  myself  what  in  the  midst  of 
this  tumult  had  become  of  my  miserable  dapple- 
gray,  I  saw  over  my  head  a  large  horse's  hoof 
descending.  Then  this  large  hoof  pressed,  with  a 
certain  gentleness,  however,  on  my  chest,  and 
pushed  me  delicately  back  on  the  ground,  on  my 
back  this  time. 

"  I  was  greatly  discouraged  ;  and  feeling  inca- 
pable of  another  effort,  I  remained  in  that  position, 
continuing  to  ask  myself  what  sort  of  a  horse  I  had 
bought  at  Cheri's,  closing  my  eyes,  and  awaiting 
death. 

"  Suddenly  I  heard  a  curious  trampling  around 
me ;  a  quantity  of  little  hard  things  struck  me  on 
the  face.  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  perceived  Brutus, 
who,  with  his  fore-feet  and  hind-legs,  was  trying  with 
incredible  activity  and  prodigious  skill  to  bury  me 
in  the  sand.  He  was  doing  his  best,  poor  beast, 
and  from  time  to  time  he  stopped  to  gaze  at  his 
work ;  then,  raising  his  head,  he  neighed  and  be- 
gan his  work  again.  That  lasted  for  a  good  three 
or  four  minutes,  after  which  Brutus,  judging  me 
doubtless  sufficiently  interred,  placed  himself  very 
respectfully  on  his  knees  before  my  tomb — on  his 
knees,  literally  on  his  knees !  He  was  saying,  I 


THE   CIRCUS   CHARGER  57 

suppose,  a  little  prayer.    I  looked  at  him.    It  inter- 
ested me  extremely. 

"  His  prayer  finished,  Brutus  made  a  slight  bow, 
went  off  a  few  steps,  stopped.,  then,  beginning  to 
gallop,  made  at  least  twenty  times  the  circuit  of  the 
open  space  in  the  middle  of  which  he  had  buried 
me.  Brutus  galloped  very  well,  with  even  stride, 
head  well  held,  on  the  right  foot,  making  around 
me  a  perfect  circle.  I  followed  him  with  my  eyes, 
but  it  made  me  uneasy  to  see  him  go  round  and 
round  and  round.  I  had  the  strength  to  cry 
'  Stop  !  stop !'  The  horse  stopped  and  seemed 
embarrassed,  without  doubt  asking  himself  what 
there  was  still  to  be  done ;  but  he  perceived  my 
hat,  which  in  my  fall  had  got  separated  from  me, 
and  at  once  made  a  new  resolution  :  he  walked 
straight  to  the  hat,  seized  it  in  his  teeth,  and  gal- 
loped off,  this  time  by  one  of  the  six  alleys  that  led 
from  my  tomb. 

"  Brutus  got  farther  and  farther  away,  and  disap- 
peared; I  remained  alone.  I  was  puzzled,  posi- 
tively puzzled.  I  shook  off  the  little  coating  of 
dust  which  covered  me,  and  without  getting  up,  by 
the  help  of  my  two  arms  and  right  leg  —  to  move 
my  left  leg  was  not  to  be  thought  of — I  succeeded 
in  dragging  myself  to  a  little  grassy  slope  on  the 
edge  of  one  of  the  alleys.  Once  there,  I  could  sit 


58  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

down,  after  a  fashion,  and  I  began  to  shout  with 
all  the  strength  of  my  lungs,  '  Hi,  there  !  hi !  hi, 
there !'  No  answer.  The  woods  were  absolutely 
deserted  and  still.  The  only  thing  to  be  done 
was  to  wait  till  some  one  passed  by  to  aid  me. 

"  For  half  an  hour  I  had  been  in  that  hateful  posi- 
tion when  I  perceived  in  the  distance,  at  the  very 
end  of  the  same  alley  by  which  he  had  gone  off, 
Brutus  coming  back,  with  the  same  long  gallop  he 
had  used  in  going.  A  great  cloud  of  dust  accom- 
panied the  horse.  Little  by  little,  in  that  cloud,  I 
perceived  a  tiny  carriage — a  pony -carriage;  then 
in  that  little  pony -carriage  a  woman,  who  drove 
herself,  and  behind  the  woman  a  small  groom. 

"  A  few  moments  later  Brutus,  covered  with  foam, 
stopped  before  me,  let  my  hat  drop  at  my  feet  and 
neighed,  as  though  to  say, '  I've  done  my  duty ;  here 
is  help.'  But  I  no  longer  bothered  myself  about 
Brutus  and  the  explanations  that  he  made  me.  My 
only  thoughts  were  for  the  fairy  who  was  to  relieve 
me,  and  who,  after  lightly  jumping  from  her  little 
carriage,  was  coming  quickly  towards  me.  Besides, 
she,  too,  was  examining  me  curiously,  and  all  at 
once  we  both  exclaimed,  at  the  same  time : 

" '  Mme.  de  Noriolis  !' 

" '  M.  de  La  Roche-Targ6 !' 

"  A  little  while  ago  George  spoke  to  us  of  his 


THE   CIRCUS   CHARGER  59 

aunt,  and  mentioned  how  she  had  married  him  quite 
young,  at  one  stroke,  without  giving  him  time  to 
reflect  or  breathe.  I,  too,  have  an  aunt,  and  be- 
tween us  for  a  number  of  years  there  has  been  a 
perpetual  battle.  '  Marry.'  '  I  don't  want  to  mar- 
ry.' '  Do  you  want  young  girls  ?  There  is  Made- 
moiselle A,  Mademoiselle  B,  Mademoiselle  C.' 
'I  don't  want  to  marry.'  'Do  you  want  widows? 
There  is  Madame  D,  Madame  E,  Madame  F.'  '  I 
don't  want  to  marry.' 

"  Mme.  de  Noriolis  figured  always  in  the  first  rank 
in  the  series  of  widows,  and  I  noticed  that  my  aunt 
put  stress,  with  evident  favoritism,  on  all  the  good 
points  and  advantages  that  I  should  find  in  that 
marriage.  She  didn't  have  to  tell  me  that  Mme.  de 
Noriolis  was  very  pretty — any  one  could  see  that ; 
or  that  she  was  very  rich — I  knew  it  already.  But 
she  explained  to  me  that  M.  de  Noriolis  was  an 
idiot,  who  had  had  the  merit  of  making  his  wife 
perfectly  miserable,  and  that  thus  it  would  be  very 
easy  for  the  second  husband  to  make  himself  very 
much  loved. 

"  Then,  when  she  had  discoursed  at  length  on  the 
virtues,  graces,  and  merits  of  Mme.  de  Noriolis, 
my  aunt,  who  is  clever  and  knows  my  weakness, 
pulled  out  of  her  desk  a  topographical  map,  and 
spread  it  out  with  care  on  the  table. 


60  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

"  It  was  the  map  of  the  district  of  Chatellerault, 
a  very  correct  and  minute  map,  that  my  aunt  had 
gone  herself  to  the  military  station  to  buy,  with  the 
view  of  convincing  me  that  I  ought  to  marry  Mme. 
de  Noriolis.  The  places  of  Noriolis  and  of  La 
Roche-Targe'  were  scarcely  three  kilometers  apart 
in  that  map.  My  aunt,  with  her  own  hands,  had 
drawn  a  line  of  red  ink,  and  slily  united  the  two 
places,  and  she  forced  me  to  look  at  her  little  red 
line,  saying  to  me,  '  Two  thousand  acres  without  a 
break,  when  the  places  of  Noriolis  and  La  Roche- 
Targe  are  united ;  what  a  chance  for  a  hunter !' 

"  I  closed  my  eyes,  so  strong  was  the  temptation, 
and  repeated  my  refrain,  '  I  don't  want  to  marry.' 
But  I  was  afraid,  seriously  afraid ;  and  when  I  met 
Mme.  de  Noriolis  I  always  saw  her  surrounded, 
as  by  a  halo,  by  the  little  red  line  of  my  aunt,  and 
I  said  to  myself :  '  A  charming,  and  clever,  and 
sensible  woman,  whose  first  husband  was  an  idiot, 
and  this  and  that,  and  two  thousand  acres  without 
a  break.  Run  away,  wretch,  run  away,  since  you 
don't  wish  to  marry.' 

"And  I  ran  away !  But  this  time  by  what  means 
could  I  run  away  ?  I  was  there,  miserable,  in  the 
grass,  covered  with  sand,  with  my  hair  in  disorder, 
my  clothes  in  rags,  and  my  unfortunate  leg  stiff. 
And  Mme.  de  Noriolis  came  nearer,  looking  spick 


THE   CIRCUS    CHARGER  6l 

and  span  —  always  in  the  halo  of  the  little  red 
line — and  said  to  me : 

"  '  You,  M.  de  La  Roche-Targ&,  is  it  you  ?  What 
are  you  doing  there  ?  What  has  happened  to  you  ?' 

"I  frankly  confessed  my  fall. 

" '  At  least  you  are  not  wounded  ?' 

" '  No,  no,  I'm  not  wounded.  I've  something  the 
matter  with  that  leg;  but  it's  nothing  serious,  I 
know.' 

" '  And  what  horse  played  you  that  trick  ?' 

"  '  Why,  this  one.' 

"And  I  pointed  out  Brutus  to  Mme.de  Noriolis. 
Brutus  was  there,  quite  near  us,  untied,  peacefully 
crunching  little  tufts  of  broom. 

"  '  What,  that  one,  that  brave  horse  ?  Oh,  he  has 
well  made  up  for  his  faults,  I  assure  you.  I  will 
tell  you  about  it,  but  later  on.  You  must  first  get 
home,  and  at  once.' 

" '  I  can't  walk  a  step.' 

" '  But  I  am  going  to  take  you  back  myself,  at  the 
risk  of  compromising  you.' 

"  And  she  called  Bob,  her  little  groom,  and  tak- 
ing me  gently  by  the  arm,  while  Bob  took  me  by  the 
other,  she  made  me  get  into  her  carriage ;  five  min- 
utes later  we  were  bowling  off,  both  of  us,  in  the 
direction  of  La  Roche-Targe :  she,  holding  the  reins 
and  driving  the  pony  with  a  light  hand ;  I,  looking 


62  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

at  her,  feeling  troubled,  confused,  embarrassed, 
ridiculous,  and  stupid.  We  were  alone  in  the  car- 
riage. Bob  was  commissioned  to  bring  Brutus, 
who,  very  docile,  had  allowed  himself  to  be  taken. 

" ' Lie  down,'  Mme.  de  Noriolis  said  to  me;  'keep 
your  leg  straight ;  I  am  going  to  drive  you  slowly 
so  as  to  avoid  bumps.' 

"  In  short,  she  made  a  lot  of  little  amiable  and 
pleasant  remarks ;  then,  when  she  saw  me  well  set- 
tled, she  said : 

" '  Tell  me  how  you  came  to  fall,  and  then  I  will 
tell  you  how  I  happened  to  come  to  your  aid.  It 
seems  to  me  this  horse  story  must  be  queer.' 

"  I  began  my  tale ;  but  as  soon  as  I  spoke  of 
Brutus's  efforts  to  unhorse  me,  and  the  two  reports 
of  the  gun,  she  exclaimed : 

"  '  I  understand,  I  understand.  You  have  bought 
a  circus  charger.' 

" '  A  circus  charger !' 

" '  Why,  yes ;  that's  it,  and  that  explains  every- 
thing. You  have  seen  twenty  times  at  the  Circus  of 
the  Empress  the  performance  of  the  circus  charger 
— the  light  -  cavalryman  who  enters  the  arena  on  a 
gray  horse,  then  the  Arabs  come  and  shoot  at  the 
cavalryman,  who  is  wounded  and  falls ;  and  as  you 
didn't  fall,  the  horse,  indignant  and  not  understand- 
ing how  you  could  so  far  forget  your  part,  threw 


THE   CIRCUS   CHARGER  63 

you  on  the  ground.  And  when  you  were  on  the 
ground,  what  did  the  horse  do  ?' 

"  I  related  Brutus's  little  work  in  burying  me  suit- 
ably. 

" '  The  circus  charger,'  she  continued ;  '  still  the 
circus  charger.  He  sees  his  master  wounded,  the 
Arabs  could  come  back  and  finish  him,  and  so  what 
does  the  horse  do  ?  He  buries  the  cavalryman. 
Then  goes  off  galloping,  didn't  he  ?' 

" '  Yes,  on  a  hard  gallop.' 

" '  Carrying  the  flag,  which  is  not  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  Arabs.' 

"  '  It's  my  hat  that  he  took.' 

" '  He  took  what  he  could.  And  where  does  the 
circus  charger  gallop  to  ?' 

" '  Ah  !  I  know,  I  know,'  I  exclaimed,  in  my  turn, 
'  he  goes  to  get  the  sutler.' 

" '  Precisely.  He  goes  to  get  the  sutler ;  and  the 
sutler  to-day,  if  you  please,  is  I,  Countess  of  Nori- 
olis.  Your  big  gray  horse  galloped  into  my  grounds. 
I  was  standing  on  the  porch,  putting  on  my  gloves 
and  ready  to  step  into  my  carriage,  when  the  sta- 
blemen came  running,  upon  seeing  that  horse  ar- 
rive saddled  and  bridled,  without  a  rider,  and  a 
hat  in  his  mouth.  They  tried  to  catch  him,  but 
he  shunned  them  and  escaped,  and  came  straight 
to  the  porch,  falling  on  his  knees  before  me.  The 


64  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

men  approached,  and  once  more  tried  to  catch  him  ; 
but  he  got  up,  galloped  away,  stopped  by  the  gate 
of  the  grounds,  turned  around,  and  looked  at  me. 
He  called  to  me — I  assure  you,  he  called  to  me.  I 
told  the  men  not  to  bother  about  the  horse  any 
more.  Then  I  jumped  into  my  carriage  and  started ; 
the  horse  rushed  into  the  woods ;  post-haste  I  fol- 
lowed him  by  paths  that  were  not  always  intended 
for  carriages ;  but  still  I  followed  him,  and  I  arrived 
and  found  you.' 

"  At  the  moment  Mme.  de  Noriolis  was  speaking 
those  last  words  the  carriage  received  a  tremendous 
shock  from  behind ;  then  we  saw  in  the  air  Brutus's 
head,  which  was  held  there  upright  as  though  by  a 
miracle.  For  it  was  again  Brutus.  Mounted  by 
Bob,  he  had  followed  the  carriage  for  several  min- 
utes, and  seeing  that  the  back  seat  of  the  little  pony- 
carriage  was  unoccupied,  he  had,  like  a  true  artist, 
cleverly  seized  the  moment  to  give  us  a  new  proof 
of  his  talent  in  executing  the  most  brilliant  of  his 
former  performances.  In  one  jump  he  had  placed 
his  fore-feet  on  the  carriage ;  then,  that  done,  he 
quietly  continued  trotting  on  his  two  hind -legs. 
Bob,  distracted,  with  his  body  thrown  over  and  his 
head  thrown  back,  was  making  vain  attempts  to  put 
the  horse  back  on  his  four  legs. 

"  As  to  Mme.  de  Noriolis,  she  was  so  well  fright- 


THE   CIRCUS    CHARGER  65 

ened,  that,  letting  the  reins  drop  from  her  hands, 
she  had  simply  thrown  herself  in  my  arms.  Her 
adorable  little  head  had  rolled  hap-hazard  on  my 
shoulder,  and  my  lips  just  touched  her  hair.  With 
my  left  hand  I  tried  to  recover  the  reins,  with  my 
right  I  supported  Mme.  de  Noriolis  j  my  leg  hurt 
me  frightfully,  and  I  was  seized  with  a  queer  feel- 
ing of  confusion. 

"It  was  thus  that  Mme.  de  Noriolis  made  her 
first  entry  into  La  Roche-Targe. 

"When  she  returned  there,  one  evening  at  mid- 
night, six  weeks  later,  having  during  the  day  be- 
come Mme.  de  La  Roche-Targe,  she  said : 

" '  What  is  life,  after  all  ?  Nothing  like  this  would 
have  happened  if  you  hadn't  bought  the  circus 
charger.' " 


BLACKY 


BLACKY 

"  DON'T  be  alarmed,  sir ;  you  won't  miss  the 
train.  For  the  last  fifteen  years  I've  been  carrying 
travellers  to  the  station,  and  I've  never  yet  missed 
a  train  !  Think  of  that,  sir ;  never !" 

"  But—" 

"  Oh,  don't  look  at  your  watch.  There  is  one 
thing  you  don't  know  and  that  you  must  learn, 
and  that  your  watch  will  never  be  able  to  tell  you — 
that  is,  that  the  train  is  always  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  late.  Such  a  thing  as  the  train's  being  on 
time  has  never  happened." 

Such  a  thing  happened  that  day,  however,  for 
the  train  was  on  time,  and  so  I  missed  it.  My 
driver  was  furious. 

"  You  should  warn  us,"  he  said  to  the  station- 
master,  "  if  your  trains  are  suddenly  going  to  start 
at  the  right  hour.  Who  ever  saw  the  like  !" 

And  he  turned  to  one  or  two  of  the  porters  for 
witnesses. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  thing  ?  I  don't  wish 
to  appear  blamable  before  the  gentleman.  A  train 


70  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

on  time — on  time  !  You  know  it's  the  first  time  it 
has  ever  happened." 

There  was  a  general  cry  of  "  Yes,  indeed ;  usually 
there's  some  delay."  But,  for  all  that,  I  had  none 
the  less  three  long  hours  to  pass  in  a  very  desolate 
village  (in  the  Canton  of  Vaud)  shut  in  by  two 
sad-looking  mountains,  which  had  their  little  top- 
knots covered  with  snow. 

But  how  kill  three  hours  ?  In  my  turn  I  now 
asked  advice,  and  again  there  was  a  chorus  of 
"  Go  see  the  Caldron  ;  that's  the  only  sight  to  be 
seen  in  this  part  of  the  country."  "And  where 
is  this  Caldron  ?"  On  the  mountain,  to  the  right, 
half  way  up ;  but  the  path  was  a  little  complicated, 
and  I  was  advised  to  take  a  guide ;  and  there, 
over  there  in  that  white  cottage  with  green  blinds, 
I  would  find  the  best  guide  there  was  about  here, 
an  honest  man — Old  Simon. 

So  I  went  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  little 
house. 

An  old  woman  opened  it. 

"  Simon,  the  guide  ?" 

"  Yes,  right  here ;  but — if  it's  to  go  to  the  Cal- 
dron—" 

"It  is  to  go  to  the  Caldron." 

"  Well,  Simon  hasn't  been  very  well  since  morn- 
ing; he  hasn't  much  strength,  and  he  can't  go 


BLACKY  71 

out.  But  don't  worry  yourself ;  there  is  some  one 
who  can  replace  him — there  is  Blacky." 

"  All  right,  let  it  be  Blacky,  then." 

"  Only  I  must  tell  you  that  Blacky  isn't  a  per- 
son." 

"  Not  a  person  ?" 

"  No,  he's  our  dog." 

"  A  dog  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Yes,  Blacky;  and  he  wilt  guide  you  very  well — 
quite  as  well  as  my  husband.  He  is  in  the  habit 
of—" 

"  In  the  habit  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  for  years  and  years  Simon  took  him 
along,  so  he  learned  the  different  places,  and  now 
he  does  very  well  all  by  himself.  He  has  often 
taken  travellers,  and  we  have  always  been  compli- 
mented about  him.  As  for  intelligence,  don't  be 
afraid  —  he  has  as  much  as  you  or  I.  He  needs 
only  speech,  but  speech  isn't  required.  If  it  was 
to  show  a  monument,  now — why,  yes,  for  then  it 
would  be  necessary  to  give  some  account  and  know 
the  historical  dates ;  but  here  there  are  only  the 
beauties  of  nature.  Take  Blacky,  and  it  will  be 
cheaper  also ;  my  husband  would  cost  three  francs, 
whereas  Blacky  is  only  thirty  sous,  and  he  will 
show  you  as  much  for  thirty  sous  as  my  husband 
would  for  three  francs." 


72  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

"  Very  well ;  and  where  is  Blacky  ?" 

"  He  is  resting  in  the  sun,  in  the  garden.  Al- 
ready this  morning  he  has  taken  some  English 
people  to  the  Caldron.  Shall  I  call  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  call  him." 

"Blacky!  Blacky!" 

He  came  with  a  leap  through  the  window.  He 
was  a  rather  ugly-looking  little  dog,  with  long  frizzy 
hair,  all  mussed ;  he  wasn't  much  to  look  at,  but  he 
had,  however,  about  him  a  certain  air  of  gravity, 
resolution,  and  importance.  His  first  glance  was 
at  me — a  clear,  searching,  confident  look  that  took 
me  in  from  head  to  toe,  and  that  seemed  to  say, 
"It's  a  traveller,  and  he  wants  to  see  the  Caldron." 

One  train  missed  sufficed  me  for  that  day,  and  I 
was  particularly  anxious  not  to  lay  myself  open  to 
another  such  experience,  so  I  explained  to  the 
good  woman  that  I  had  only  three  hours  for  my 
visit  to  the  Caldron. 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  she  said ;  "  you  wish  to  take  the 
four-o'clock  train.  Don't  be  alarmed  ;  Blacky  will 
bring  you  back  in  time.  Now  then,  Blacky,  off 
with  you ;  hurry  up !" 

But  Blacky  didn't  seem  at  all  disposed  to  mind. 
He  stayed  there  motionless,  looking  at  his  mistress 
with  a  certain  uneasiness. 

"  Ah,  how  stupid  of  me !"  said  the  old  woman. 


BLACKY  73 

"  I  forgot  the  sugar ;"  and  she  went  to  get  four 
pieces  of  sugar  from  a  drawer,  and  gave  them  to 
me,  saying :  "  That's  why  he  wouldn't  start ;  you 
had  no  sugar.  You  see,  Blacky,  the  gentleman 
has  the  sugar.  Now  then,  run  along  with  you, 
sir,  to  the  Caldron !  to  the  Caldron !  to  the  Cal- 
dron !" 

She  repeated  these  last  words  three  times,  slowly 
and  distinctly,  and  during  that  time  I  was  closely 
examining  Blacky.  He  acknowledged  the  words 
of  his  mistress  with  little  movements  of  the  head, 
which  rapidly  became  more  emphatic,  and  towards 
the  end  he  evinced  some  temper  and  impatience. 
They  could  be  interpreted  thus  :  "  Yes,  yes,  to  the 
Caldron — I  understand.  The  gentleman  has  the 
pieces  of  sugar,  and  we  are  going  to  the  Caldron — 
it's  settled.  Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?" 

And,  without  waiting  for  Mme.  Simon's  third 
"  To  the  Caldron  1"  Blacky,  evidently  hurt,  turned 
tail,  came  and  placed  himself  in  front  of  me,  and 
by  his  look  showed  me  the  door,  which  told  me  as 
plainly  as  a  dog  can  tell,  "  Now  then,  come  along, 
you !" 

I  meekly  followed  him.  We  two  started,  he  in 
front,  I  behind.  In  this  manner  we  went  through 
the  entire  village.  The  children  who  were  playing 
in  the  street  recognized  my  guide. 


74  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

"  Hello,  Blacky !  good-morning,  Blacky !"  They 
wanted  to  play  with  the  dog,  but  he  turned  his 
head  with  a  disdainful  air  —  the  air  of  a  dog  who 
hasn't  the  time  to  answer  himself,  and  who  is 
doing  his  duty  and  earning  thirty  sous.  One  of 
the  children  exclaimed  : 

"  Leave  him  alone ;  don't  you  see  he  is  taking 
the  gentleman  to  the  Caldron  ?  Good-day,  sir  !" 

And  all  repeated,  laughing,  "  Good-day,  sir !" 

I  smiled  rather  awkwardly;  I  am  sure  I  felt 
embarrassed,  even  a  little  humiliated.  I  was,  in  fact, 
under  the  lead  of  that  animal.  He,  for  the  pres- 
ent, was  my  master.  He  knew  where  he  was  going ; 
I  did  not.  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  out  of  the  vil- 
lage and  find  myself  alone  with  Blacky  and  face  to 
face  with  the  beauties  of  nature  that  he  had  been 
commissioned  to  show  me. 

These  beauties  of  nature  were,  at  the  beginning, 
a  fearfully  hot  and  dusty  road,  on  which  the  sun 
fell  with  full  force.  The  dog  walked  with  a  brisk 
step,  and  I  was  getting  tired  following  him.  I 
tried  to  slacken  his  gait.  "  Come,  I  say,  Blacky, 
my  friend,  not  so  quickly."  But  Blacky  turned  a 
deaf  ear,  and  continued,  without  listening  to  me, 
his  little  trot.  He  was  taken  suddenly  with  a  real 
fit  of  anger  when  I  wished  to  sit  down  in  the  cor- 
ner of  a  field,  under  a  tree  that  gave  a  meagre 


BLACKY  75 

shade.  He  barked  furiously,  and  cast  on  me  out- 
raged looks ;  evidently  what  I  was  doing  was 
against  the  rule.  He  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
stopping  there,  and  his  barks  were  so  piercing 
and  annoying  that  I  rose  to  continue  on  my  way. 
Blacky  became  calm  at  once,  and  walked  placidly 
in  front  of  me — I  had  understood  him,  and  he  was 
satisfied. 

Shortly  afterwards  we  entered  a  delightful  path, 
in  full  blossom,  shady,  sweet-smelling,  and  filled 
with  freshness  and  the  murmur  of  springs.  Blacky 
immediately  entered  the  wood,  took  to  his  heels, 
and  disappeared  in  the  little  footway.  I  followed, 
slightly  out  of  breath,  and  had  not  gone  a  hundred 
steps  when  I  found  Blacky  waiting  for  me,  with 
head  erect  and  bright  eyes,  in  a  clearing  enlivened 
by  the  tinkle  of  a  tiny  cascade.  There  was  there 
an  old  rustic  bench,  and  Blacky  looked  impatiently 
from  me  to  the  seat  and  from  the  seat  to  me.  I 
was  beginning  to  understand  Blacky's  language. 

"  There  now,"  he  said  to  me,  "  here  is  indeed  a 
place  to  rest  in.  It's  nice  and  cool  here ;  but  you 
were  so  stupid,  you  wanted  to  stop  in  the  sun. 
Come  on,  now ;  sit  down  ;  you  really  can  sit  down. 
I  will  allow  you." 

I  stopped,  sat  down,  and  lit  a  cigar,  and  came 
near  offering  one  to  Blacky ;  perhaps  he  smoked. 


76  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

But  I  thought  he  would  prefer  a  piece  of  sugar. 
He  caught  it  on  the  fly  very  cleverly,  and  crunched 
it  with  enjoyment.  Then  he  lay  down  and  took  a 
nap  at  my  feet.  He  was  evidently  accustomed  to 
a  little  siesta  at  this  place. 

He  slept  barely  ten  minutes.  I  was,  however, 
perfectly  easy,  for  Blacky  began  to  inspire  me  with 
absolute  confidence,  and  I  was  determined  to  obey 
him  blindly.  He  got  up,  stretched  himself,  and 
threw  me  a  glance  that  meant,  "  Come  along,  my 
friend,  come  along."  And,  like  two  old  friends, 
we  set  off  slowly.  Blacky  was  enjoying  the  silence 
and  the  sweetness  of  the  place.  On  the  road,  pre- 
viously, being  in  a  hurry,  he  had  walked  with  an 
abrupt,  sturdy,  hurried  step — he  was  walking  to 
get  there ;  but  now,  refreshed  and  revived,  Blacky 
was  walking  for  the  pleasure  of  a  promenade  in  one 
of  the  prettiest  paths  in  the  Canton  of  Vaud. 

Presently  a  side  path  appeared,  leading  off  to  the 
left ;  there  was  a  short  hesitation  on  the  part  of 
Blacky,  who  reflected,  and  then  passed  it,  continu- 
ing on  his  way  straight  ahead,  but  not  without 
some  doubt  and  uncertainty  in  his  manner.  Then 
he  stopped ;  he  must  have  made  some  mistake. 
Yes ;  for  he  retraced  his  steps,  and  we  took  the 
turning  to  the  left,  which,  at  the  end  of  a  hundred 
feet,  led  into  an  open  circular  space,  and  Blacky, 


BLACKY  77 

with  his  nose  in  the  air,  invited  me  to  contemplate 
the  highly  respectable  height  of  the  lofty  rocks 
which  formed  this  circle.  When  Blacky  thought 
I  had  seen  sufficient,  he  turned  around,  and  we 
went  on  again  in  the  path  through  the  woods. 
Blacky  had  forgotten  to  show  me  the  circle  of 
rocks — a  slight  error  quickly  repaired. 

The  road  soon  became  very  mountainous,  broken, 
and  difficult,  and  I  advanced  slowly  and  with  many 
precautions.  As  to  Blacky,  he  sprang  lightly  from 
rock  to  rock,  but  did  not  forsake  me.  He  waited 
and  fixed  his  eyes  on  me  with  the  most  touching 
solicitude.  At  last  I  began  to  hear  a  rushing  of 
water ;  Blacky  commenced  barking  joyously. 

"  Courage  !"  he  said  to  me ;  "  courage  !  We  are 
nearly  there  ;  you  will  soon  see  the  Caldron." 

It  was  in  truth  the  Caldron.  From  a  short 
height  a  modest  stream  fell,  splashing  and  re- 
bounding on  a  large  rock  slightly  hollowed.  I 
should  never  have  been  consoled  for  such  a  steep 
climb  to  see  such  a  small  sight  if  I  had  not  had 
brave  little  Blacky  for  a  companion.  He,  at  least, 
was  much  more  interesting  and  marvellous  than  the 
Caldron.  On  either  side  of  the  fall,  in  little  Swiss 
chalets,  were  two  dairy-maids ;  one  was  a  blonde 
and  the  other  a  brunette ;  both  were  in  their  national 
dress,  and  were  eagerly  on  the  lookout  for  my  com- 


78  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF  VIEW 

ing,  standing  on  the  door-steps  of  their  tiny  houses — 
little  wooden  boxes,  seemingly  cut  out  by  machine. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  the  blonde  had  very  pretty 
eyes,  and  I  had  already  taken  several  steps  towards 
her  when  Blacky  began  to  bark  emphatically,  and 
resolutely  barred  the  way.  Could  he  have  a  pref- 
erence for  the  dark  one  ?  I  walked  in  the  other 
direction.  That  was  it ;  Blacky  calmed  down  as 
though  by  enchantment  when  he  saw  me  seated 
at  a  table  in  front  of  the  house  of  his  young  pro- 
tegee. I  asked  for  a  cup  of  milk  ;  Blacky's  friend 
entered  her  little  toy  house,  and  Blacky  slipped  in 
at  her  feet.  Through  a  half -open  window  I  fol- 
lowed him  with  my  eyes.  The  wretch  !  He  was 
waited  upon  before  I  was.  He  it  was  who  first 
had  his  large  bowl  of  milk.  He  had  sold  himself ! 
After  which,  with  white  drops  on  his  mustache, 
Blacky  came  to  keep  me  company  and  look  at  me 
drink  my  milk.  I  gave  him  a  piece  of  sugar,  and 
both  of  us,  absolutely  satisfied  with  each  other, 
filled  our  lungs  with  the  sharp  air  of  the  mountain. 
We  were  at  a  height  of  about  three  or  four  hundred 
yards.  It  was  a  delightful  half-hour. 

Blacky  began  to  show  signs  of  impatience  and 
agitation.  I  could  read  him  then  like  a  book.  It 
was  time  to  go.  I  paid,  got  up,  and  while  I  went 
off  to  the  right  towards  the  path  by  which  we  came 


BLACKY  79 

to  the  mountain,  I  saw  Blacky  go  and  plant  him- 
self on  the  left,  at  the  opening  of  another  path.  He 
gave  me  a  serious  and  severe  look.  What  progress 
I  had  made  during  the  last  two  hours,  and  how 
familiar  Blacky's  eloquent  silence  had  become! 

"  What  must  you  think  of  me  ?"  said  Blacky  to 
me.  "  Do  you  imagine  I  am  going  to  take  the 
same  path  twice  ?  No,  indeed.  I  am  a  good 
guide,  and  I  know  my  business.  We  shall  make 
the  descent  another  way." 

We  went  back  by  another  road,  which  was  much 
prettier  than  the  first.  Blacky,  quite  sprightly, 
often  turned  around  to  me  with  an  air  of  trium- 
phant joy.  We  traversed  the  village,  and  at  the  sta- 
tion Blacky  was  assailed  by  three  or  four  dogs  of 
his  acquaintance,  who  seemed  desirous  of  a  talk  or 
game  with  their  comrade.  They  attempted  to 
block  his  way,  but  Blacky,  grumbling  and  growl- 
ing, repulsed  their  advances. 

"  Can't  you  see  what  I  am  doing  ?  I  am  taking 
this  gentleman  to  the  station." 

It  was  only  in  the  waiting  -  room  that  he  con- 
sented to  leave  me,  after  having  eaten  with  relish 
the  two  last  pieces  of  sugar.  And  this  is  how  I 
interpreted  the  farewell  look  of  Blacky : 

"  We  are  twenty  minutes  ahead  of  time.  It  isn't 
I  who  would  have  let  you  lose  the  train.  Well, 
good-bye — pleasant  journey!" 


THE  MOST  BEAUTIFUL  WOMAN  IN  PARIS 


THE  MOST  BEAUTIFUL  WOMAN  IN  PARIS 

ON  Friday,  April  igth,  Prince  Agenor  was  really 
distracted  at  the  opera  during  the  second  act  of 
"  Sigurd."  The  prince  kept  going  from  box  to  box, 
and  his  enthusiasm  increased  as  he  went. 

"  That  blonde !  Oh,  that  blonde  !  She  is  ideal ! 
Look  at  that  blonde  !  Do  you  know  that  blonde  ?" 

It  was  from  the  front  part  of  Mme.  de  Marizy's 
large  first  tier  box  that  all  these  exclamations  were 
coming  at  that  moment. 

"  Which  blonde  ?"  asked  Mme.  de  Marizy. 

"  Which  blonde !  Why,  there  is  but  one  this 
evening  in  the  house.  Opposite  to  you,  over  there, 
in  the  first  box,  the  Sainte  Mesme's  box.  Look, 
baroness,  look  straight  over  there — " 

"Yes  I  am  looking  at  her.  She  is  atrociously 
got  up,  but  pretty — " 

"  Pretty !  She  is  a  wonder !  Simply  a  wonder  ! 
Got  up  ?  Yes,  agreed — some  country  relative.  The 
Sainte  Mesmes  have  cousins  in  Perigord.  But  what 
a  smile !  How  well  her  neck  is  set  on !  And  the  slope 
of  the  shoulders  !  Ah,  especially  the  shoulders  !" 


84  PARISIAN   POINTS    OF  VIEW 

"  Come,  either  keep  still  or  go  away.  Let  me 
listen  to  Mme.  Caron — " 

The  prince  went  away,  as  no  one  knew  that  in- 
comparable blonde.  Yet  she  had  often  been  to  the 
opera,  but  in  an  unpretentious  way — in  the  second 
tier  of  boxes.  And  to  Prince  Agenor  above  the 
first  tier  of  boxes  there  was  nothing,  absolutely 
nothing.  There  was  emptiness — space.  The  prince 
had  never  been  in  a  second-tier  box,  so  the  second- 
tier  boxes  did  not  exist. 

While  Mme.  Caron  was  marvellously  singing  the 
marvellous  phrase  of  Reyer,  "O  mon  sauveur  silen- 
cieux  la  Valkyrie  est  ta  conquttc"  the  prince  strolled 
along  the  passages  of  the  opera.  Who  was  that 
blonde  ?  He  wanted  to  know,  and  he  would  know. 

And  suddenly  he  remembered  that  good  Mme. 
Picard  was  the  box-opener  of  the  Sainte  Mesmes, 
and  that  he,  Prince  of  Nerins,  had  had  the  honor  of 
being  for  a  long  time  a  friend  of  that  good  Mme. 
Picard.  It  was  she  who  in  the  last  years  of  the 
Second  Empire  had  taught  him  bezique  in  all  its 
varieties — Japanese,  Chinese,  etc.  He  was  then 
twenty,  Mme.  Picard  was  forty.  She  was  not  then 
box-opener  of  the  National  Academy  of  Music ;  she 
had  in  those  times  as  office  —  and  it  was  not  a 
sinecure — the  position  of  aunt  to  a  nice  young 
person  who  showed  a  very  pretty  face  and  a  very 


THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL   WOMAN   IN   PARIS         85 

pretty  pair  of  legs  in  the  chorus  of  the  revues  of 
the  Varietee.  And  the  prince,  while  quite  young, 
at  the  beginning  of  his  life,  had,  for  three  or  four 
years,  led  a  peaceful,  almost  domestic  life,  with  the 
aunt  and  niece.  Then 'they  went  off  one  way  and 
he  another. 

One  evening  at  the  opera,  ten  years  later,  in 
handing  his  overcoat  to  a  venerable -looking  old 
dame,  Agenor  heard  himself  saluted  by  the  follow- 
ing little  speech : 

"  Ah,  how  happy  I  am  to  see  you  again,  prince ! 
And  not  changed — not  at  all  changed.  Still  the 
same,  absolutely  the  same — still  twenty." 

It  was  Mme.  Picard,  who  had  been  raised  to  the 
dignity  of  box -opener.  They  chatted,  talked  of 
old  times,  and  after  that  evening  the  prince  never 
passed  Mme.  Picard  without  greeting  her.  She 
responded  with  a  little  deferential  courtesy.  She 
was  one  of  those  people,  becoming  rarer  and  rarer 
nowadays,  who  have  the  exact  feeling  for  distances 
and  conventions.  There  was,  however,  a  little  rem- 
nant of  familiarity,  almost  of  affection,  in  the  way 
in  which  she  said  "  prince."  This  did  not  displease 
Agenor ;  he  had  a  very  good  recollection  of  Mme. 
Picard. 

"  Ah,  prince,"  said  Mme.  Picard  on  seeing  Age- 
nor, "  there  is  no  one  for  you  to-night  in  my  boxes. 


86  PARISIAN   POINTS    OF   VIEW 

Mme.  de  Simiane  is  not  here,  and  Mme.  de  Sainte 
Mesme  has  rented  her  box." 

"That's  precisely  it.  Don't  you  know  the  peo- 
ple in  Mme.  de  Sainte  Mesme's  box  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  prince.  It's  the  first  time  I  have 
seen  them  in  the  marquise's  box — " 

"  Then  you  have  no  idea — " 

"  None,  prince.  Only  to  me  they  don't  appear 
to  be  people  of — " 

She  was  going  to  say  of  our  set.  A  box-opener 
of  the  first  tier  of  boxes  at  the  opera,  having  gen- 
erally only  to  do  with  absolutely  high-born  people, 
considers  herself  as  being  a  little  of  their  set,  and 
shows  extreme  disdain  for  unimportant  people  ;  it 
displeases  her  to  receive  these  unimportant  peo- 
ple in  her  boxes.  Mme.  Picard,  however,  had  tact 
which  rarely  forsook  her,  and  so  stopped  herself  in 
time  to  say : 

"  People  of  your  set.  They  belong  to  the  middle 
class,  to  the  wealthy  middle  class ;  but  still  the  mid- 
dle class.  That  doesn't  satisfy  you ;  you  wish  to 
know  more  on  account  of  the  blonde.  Is  it  not  so, 
prince  ?" 

Those  last  words  were  spoken  with  rare  delicacy ; 
they  were  murmured  more  than  spoken — box-opener 
to  a  prince !  It  would  have  been  unacceptable  with- 
out that  perfect  reserve  in  accent  and  tone ;  yes,  it 


THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL   WOMAN   IN   PARIS         87 

was  a  box-opener  who  spoke,  but  a  box-opener  who 
was  a  little  bit  the  aunt  of  former  times,  the  aunt 
d  la  mode  de  Cytftire.  Mme.  Picard  continued  : 

"  Ah,  she  is  a  beauty !  She  came  with  a  little 
dark  man — her  husband,  I'm  sure ;  for  while  she 
was  taking  off  her  cloak — it  always  takes  some 
time — he  didn't  say  a  word  to  her.  No  eagerness, 
no  little  attentions.  Yes,  he  could  only  be  a  hus- 
band. I  examined  the  cloak.  People  one  doesn't 
know  puzzle  me  and  my  colleague.  Mme.  Flachet 
and  I  always  amuse  ourselves  by  trying  to  guess 
from  appearances.  Well,  the  cloak  comes  from  a 
good  dress-maker,  but  not  from  a  great  one.  It  is 
fine  and  well-made,  but  it  has  no  style.  I  think 
they  are  middle-class  people,  prince.  But  how 
stupid  I  am !  You  know  M.  Palmer — well,  a  little 
while  ago  he  came  to  see  the  beautiful  blonde !" 

"M.  Palmer?" 

"  Yes,  and  he  can  tell  you." 

"  Thanks,  Mme.  Picard,  thanks—" 

"  Good-bye,  prince,  good-bye,"  and  Mme.  Picard 
went  back  to  her  stool,  near  her  colleague,  Mme. 
Flachet,  and  said  to  her  : 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  what  a  charming  man  the  prince 
is  !  True  gentlefolks,  there  is  nothing  like  them  ! 
But  they  are  dying  out,  they  are  dying  out ;  there 
are  many  less  than  formerly." 


88  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

Prince  Ag6nor  was  willing  to  do  Palmer — big  Pal- 
mer, rich  Palmer,  vain  Palmer — the  honor  of  being 
one  of  his  friends ;  he  deigned,  and  very  frequent- 
ly, to  confide  to  Palmer  his  financial  difficulties, 
and  the  banker  was  delighted  to  come  to  his  aid. 
The  prince  had  been  obliged  to  resign  himself  to 
becoming  a  member  of  two  boards  of  directors 
presided  over  by  Palmer,  who  was  much  pleased  at 
having  under  obligations  to  him  the  representative 
of  one  of  the  noblest  families  in  France.  Besides, 
the  prince  proved  himself  to  be  a  good  prince,  and 
publicly  acknowledged  Palmer,  showing  himself  in 
his  box,  taking  charge  of  his  entertainments,  and 
occupying  himself  with  his  racing-stable.  He  had 
even  pushed  his  gratitude  to  the  point  of  compro- 
mising Mme.  Palmer  in  the  most  showy  way. 

"  I  am  removing  her  from  the  middle  class,"  he 
said ;  "  I  owe  it  to  Palmer,  who  is  one  of  the  best 
fellows  in  the  world." 

The  prince  found  the  banker  alone  in  a  lower 
box. 

"  What  is  the  name — the  name  of  that  blonde  in 
the  Sainte  Mesme's  box  ?" 

"  Mme.  Derline." 

"  Is  there  a  M.  Derline  ?" 

"Certainly,  a  lawyer — my  lawyer;  the  Sainte 
Mesme's  lawyer.  And  if  you  want  to  see  Mme. 


THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL   WOMAN    IN    PARIS          89 

Derline  close  to,  come  to  my  ball  next  Thursday. 
She  will  be  there—" 

The  wife  of  a  lawyer !  She  was  only  the  wife  of 
a  lawyer  !  The  prince  sat  down  in  the  front  of  the 
box,  opposite  Mme.  Derline,  and  while  looking 
at  that  lawyeress  he  was  thinking.  "  Have  I,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  sufficient  credit,  sufficient  power, 
to  make  of  Mme.  Derline  the  most  beautiful  woman 
in  Paris  ?" 

For  there  was  always  a  most  beautiful  woman  in 
Pan's,  and  it  was  he,  Prince  Age'nor,  who  flattered 
himself  that  he  could  discover,  proclaim,  crown, 
and  consecrate  that  most  beautiful  woman  in  Paris. 
Launch  Mme.  Derline  in  society !  Why  not  ?  He 
had  never  launched  any  one  from  the  middle  class. 
The  enterprise  would  be  new,  amusing,  and  bold. 
He  looked  at  Mme.  Derline  through  his  opera- 
glass,  and  discovered  thousands  of  beauties  and 
perfections  in  her  delightful  face. 

After  the  opera,  the  prince,  during  the  exit, 
placed  himself  at  the  bottom  of  the  great  staircase. 
He  had  enlisted  two  of  his  friends.  "  Come,"  he 
had  said  to  them,  "  I  will  show  you  the  most  beau- 
tiful woman  in  Paris."  While  he  was  speaking, 
two  steps  away  from  the  prince  was  an  alert  young 
man  who  was  attached  to  a  morning  paper,  a  very 
widely-read  paper.  The  young  man  had  sharp 


go  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

ears,  he  caught  on  the  fly  the  phrase  of  the  Prince 
Age'nor,  whose  high  social  position  he  knew;  he 
succeeded  in  keeping  close  to  the  prince,  and  when 
Mme.  Derline  passed,  the  young  reporter  had  the 
gift  of  hearing  the  conversation,  without  losing 
a  word,  of  the  three  brilliant  noblemen.  A  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  later  he  arrived  at  the  office  of  the 
paper. 

"  Is  there  time,"  he  asked,  "to  write  a  dozen  lines 
in  the  Society  Note-book  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  hurry." 

The  young  man  was  a  quick  writer ;  the  fifteen 
lines  were  done  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  They 
brought  seven  francs  fifty  to  the  reporter,  but  cost 
M.  Derline  a  little  more  than  that. 

During  this  time  Prince  Age'nor,  seated  in  the 
club  at  the  whist-table,  was  saying,  while  shuffling 
the  cards : 

"  This  evening  at  the  opera  there  was  a  marvel- 
lous woman,  a  certain  Mme.  Derline.  She  is  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  Paris  !" 

The  following  morning,  in  the  gossip-corner  of 
the  Bois,  in  the  spring  sunshine,  the  prince,  sur- 
rounded by  a  little  group  of  respectful  disciples, 
was  solemnly  delivering  from  the  back  of  his  roan 
mare  the  following  opinion  : 

"  Listen  well  to  what  I  say.    The  most  beautiful 


THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL   WOMAN    IN   PARIS         gi 

woman  in  Paris  is  a  certain  Mme.  Derline.  This 
star  will  be  visible  Thursday  evening  at  the  Palm- 
er's. Go,  and  don't  forget  the  name  —  Mme. 
Derline." 

The  disciples  dispersed,  and  went  abroad  spread- 
ing the  great  news. 

Mme.  Derline  had  been  admirably  brought  up 
by  an  irreproachable  mother ;  she  had  been  taught 
that  she  ought  to  get  up  in  the  morning,  keep  a 
strict  account  of  her  expenses,  not  go  to  a  great 
dress-maker,  believe  in  God,  love  her  husband,  visit 
the  poor,  and  never  spend  but  half  her  income  in 
order  to  prepare  dowries  for  her  daughters.  Mme. 
Derline  performed  all  these  duties.  She  led  a 
peaceful  and  serene  life  in  the  old  house  (in  the 
Rue  Dragon)  which  had  sheltered,  since  1825,  three 
generations  of  Derlines ;  the  husbands  had  all  three 
been  lawyers,  the  wives  had  all  three  been  virtuous. 
The  three  generations  had  passed  there  a  happy 
and  moderate  life,  never  having  any  great  pleas- 
ures, but,  also,  never  being  very  bored. 

The  next  day  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning 
Mme.  Derline  awoke  with  an  uneasy  feeling.  She 
had  passed  a  troubled  night — she,  who  usually  slept 
like  a  child.  The  evening  before  at  the  opera,  in 
the  box,  Mme.  Derline  had  vaguely  felt  that  some- 
thing was  going  on  around  her.  And  during  the 


92  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

entire  last  act  an  opera-glass,  obstinately  fixed  on 
her  —  the  prince's  opera-glass  —  had  thrown  her 
into  a  certain  agitation,  not  disagreeable,  however. 
She  wore  a  low  dress — too  much  so,  in  her  mother's 
opinion — and  two  or  three  times,  under  the  fixity 
of  that  opera-glass,  she  had  raised  the  shoulder- 
straps  of  her  dress. 

So,  after  opening  her  eyes,  Mme.  Derline  re- 
closed  them  lazily,  indolently,  with  thoughts  float- 
ing between  dreamland  and  reality.  She  again 
saw  the  opera-house,  and  a  hundred,  two  hundred, 
five  hundred  opera-glasses  obstinately  fixed  on  her 
— on  her  alone. 

The  maid  entered,  placed  a  tray  on  a  little  table, 
made  up  a  big  fire  in  the  fire-place,  and  went  away. 
There  was  a  cup  of  chocolate  and  the  morning'paper 
on  the  tray,  the  same  as  every  morning.  Then  Mme. 
Derline  courageously  got  up,  slipped  her  little 
bare  feet  into  fur  slippers,  wrapped  herself  in  a 
white  cashmere  dressing-gown,  and  crouched  shiver- 
ing in  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire.  She  sipped  the 
chocolate,  and  slightly  burned  herself ;  she  must 
wait  a  little  while.  She  put  down  the  cup,  took  up 
the  paper,  unfolded  it,  and  rapidly  ran  her  eye 
over  the  six  columns  of  the  front  page.  At  the 
bottom,  quite  at  the  bottom  of  the  sixth  column, 
were  the  following  lines : 


THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL   WOMAN   IN    PARIS         93 

Last  evening  at  the  opera  there  was  a  very  brilliant 
perfomance  of  "  Sigurd"  Society  was  well  represent- 
ed there ;  the  beautiful  Duchess  of  Montaiglon,  the 
pretty  Countess  Verdinilre  of  Lardac,  the  marvellous 
Marquise  of  Muriel,  the  lively  Baroness  of- — 

To  read  the  name  of  the  baroness  it  was  neces- 
sary to  turn  the  page.  Mme.  Derline  did  not  turn 
it ;  she  was  thinking,  reflecting.  The  evening  before 
she  had  amused  herself  by  having  Palmer  point  out 
to  her  the  social  leaders  in  the  house,  and  it  so 
happened  that  the  banker  had  pointed  out  to  her 
the  marvellous  marquise.  And  Mme.  Derline — who 
was  twenty-two — raised  herself  a  little  to  look  in  the 
glass.  She  exchanged  a  slight  smile  with  a  young 
blonde,  who  was  very  pink  and  white. 

"  Ah,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  if  I  were  a  marquise 
the  man  who  wrote  this  would  perhaps  have  paid 
some  attention  to  me,  and  my  name  would  perhaps 
be  there.  I  wonder  if  it's  fun  to  see  one's  name 
printed  in  a  paper  ?" 

And  while  addressing  this  question  to  herself,  she 
turned  the  page,  and  continued  reading : 

— the  lively  Baroness  of  Myrvoix,  etc.  We  have 
to  announce  the  appearance  of  a  new  star  which  has 
abruptly  burst  forth  in  the  Parisian  constellation. 


94  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

The  house  was  in  ecstasy  over  a  strange  and  disturb- 
ing blonde,  whose  dark  steel  eyes,  and  whose  shoulders 
— ah,  what  shoulders  !  The  shoulders  were  the  event 
of  the  evening.  From  all  quarters  one  heard  asked, 
"  Who  is  sher  "  Who  is  she!"  "  To  whom  do 
those  divine  shoulders  belong ?"  "To  whom?"  We 
know,  and  our  readers  will  doubtless  thank  us  for  tell- 
ing them  the  name  of  this  ideal  wonder.  It  is  Mme. 
Derline. 

Her  name !  She  had  read  her  name !  She  was 
dazzled.  Her  eyes  clouded.  All  the  letters  in 
the  alphabet  began  to  dance  wildly  on  the  paper. 
Then  they  calmed  down,  stopped,  and  regained 
their  places.  She  was  able  to  find  her  name,  and 
continue  reading : 

It  is  Mme.  Derline,  the  wife  of  one  of  the  most 
agreeable  and  richest  lawyers  in  Paris.  The  Prince 
of  Nerins,  whose  word  has  so  much  weight  in  such 
matters,  said  yesterday  evening  to  every  one  who  would 
listen,  "  She  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Paris" 
We  are  absolutely  of  that  opinion. 

A  single  paragraph,  and  that  was  all.  It  was 
enough,  it  was  too  much  !  Mme  Derline  was  seized 
with  a  feeling  of  undefinable  confusion.  It  was 


THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL  WOMAN    IN   PARIS         95 

a  combination  of  fear  and  pleasure,  of  joy  and 
trouble,  of  satisfied  vanity  and  wounded  modesty. 
Her  dressing-gown  was  a  little  open ;  she  folded  it 
over  with  a  sort  of  violence,  and  crossed  it  upon 
her  feet,  abruptly  drawn  back  towards  the  arm- 
chair. She  had  a  feeling  of  nudity.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  all  Paris  was  there,  in  her  room,  and  that 
the  Prince  de  Nerins  was  in  front  saying  to  all  Paris, 
"  Look,  look !  She  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
Paris." 

The  Prince  of  Nerins  !  She  knew  the  name 
well,  for  she  read  with  keen  interest  in  the  papers 
all  the  articles  entitled  "Parisian  Life"  "High 
Life"  "Society  Echoes"  etc.;  and  all  the  society 
columns  signed  "Mousseline"  "Fanfreluche"  "Brim- 
borion"  "  Veloutim  ";  all  the  accounts  of  great  mar- 
riages, great  balls,  of  great  comings  out,  and  of 
great  charity  sales.  The  name  of  the  prince  often 
figured  in  these  articles,  and  he  was  always  quoted 
as  supreme  arbiter  of  Parisian  elegances. 

And  it  was  he  who  had  declared — ah ! — decidedly 
pleasure  got  the  better  of  fear.  Still  trembling  with 
emotion,  Mme.  Derline  went  and  placed  herself 
before  a  long  looking-glass,  an  old  cheval-glass 
from  Jacob's,  which  never  till  now  had  reflected 
other  than  good  middle-class  women  married  to 
good  lawyers.  In  that  glass  she  looked  at  herself, 


96  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

examined  herself,  studied  herself,  long,  curiously, 
and  eagerly.  Of  course  she  knew  she  was  pretty, 
but  oh,  the  power  of  print !  She  found  herself  ab- 
solutely delightful.  She  was  no  longer  Mme.  Der- 
line  —  she  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Paris ! 
Her  feet,  her  little  feet — their  bareness  no  longer 
troubled  her — left  the  ground.  She  raised  herself 
gently  towards  the  heavens,  towards  the  clouds,  and 
felt  herself  become  a  goddess. 

But  suddenly  an  anxiety  seized  her.  "  Edward ! 
What  would  Edward  say  ?"  Edward  was  her  hus- 
band. There  had  been  but  one  man's  surname  in 
her  life — her  husband's.  The  lawyer  was  well  loved ! 
And  almost  at  the  same  moment  when  she  was  ask- 
ing herself  what  Edward  would  say,.  Edward  abrupt- 
ly opened  the  door. 

He  was  a  little  out  of  breath.  He  had  run  up- 
stairs two  at  a  time.  He  was  peacefully  rummaging 
among  old  papers  in  his  study  on  the  ground-floor 
when  one  of  his  brother-lawyers,  with  forced  con- 
gratulations, however,  had  made  him  read  the  fa- 
mous article.  He  had  soon  got  rid  of  his  brother- 
lawyer,  and  he  had  come,  much  irritated,  to  his 
room.  At  first  there  was  simply  a  torrent  of  words. 

"  Why  do  these  journalists  meddle  ?  It's  an  out- 
rage !  Your  name — look,  there  is  your  name  in  this 
paper !" 


THE   MOST    BEAUTIFUL   WOMAN    IN    PARIS         97 

"Yes,  I  know,  I've  seen — " 

"  Ah,  you  know,  you  have  seen — and  you  think 
it  quite  natural !" 

"  But,  dear—" 

"  What  times  do  we  live  in  ?     It's  your  fault,  too." 

"  My  fault !" 

"  Yes,  your  fault !" 

"  And  how  ?" 

"  Your  dress  last  night  was  too  low,  much  too 
low.  Besides,  your  mother  told  you  so — " 

"Oh,  mamma — " 

"  You  needn't  say  '  Oh,  mamma !'  Your  mother 
was  right.  There,  read  :  '  And  whose  shoulders — 
ah,  what  shoulders  !'  And  it  is  of  your  shoulders 
they  are  speaking.  And  that  prince  who  dares  to 
award  you  a  prize  for  beauty !" 

The  good  man  had  plebeian,  Gothical  ideas — the 
ideas  of  a  lawyer  of  old  times,  of  a  lawyer  of  the 
Rue  Dragon ;  the  lawyers  of  the  Boulevard  Males- 
herbes  are  no  longer  like  that. 

Mme.  Derline  very  gently,  very  quietly,  brought 
the  rebel  back  to  reason.  Of  course  there  was  charm 
and  eloquence  in  her  speech,  but  how  much  more 
charm  and  eloquence  in  the  tenderness  of  her 
glance  and  smile. 

Why  this  great  rage  and  despair  ?  He  was  ac- 
cused of  being  the  husband  of  the  most  beautiful 


98  PARISIAN   POINTS    OF   VIEW 

woman  in  Paris.  Was  that  such  a  horrible  thing, 
such  a  terrible  misfortune?  And  who  was  the 
brother-lawyer,  the  good  brother-lawyer,  who  had 
taken  pleasure  in  coming  to  show  him  the  hateful 
article  ? 

"  M.  Renaud." 

"  Oh,  it  was  M.  Renaud — dear  M.  Renaud !" 

Thereupon  Mme.  Derline  was  seized  with  a 
hearty  fit  of  laughter ;  so  much  so  that  the  blond 
hair,  which  had  been  loosely  done  up,  came  down 
and  framed  the  pretty  face  from  which  gleamed  the 
dark  eyes  which  could  also,  when  they  gave  them- 
selves the  trouble,  look  very  gentle,  very  caressing, 
very  loving. 

"Oh,  it  was  M.  Renaud,  the  husband  of  that 
delightful  Mme.  Renaud !  Well,  do  you  know  what 
you  will  do  immediately,  without  losing  a  minute  ? 
Go  to  the  president  of  the  Tribunal  and  ask  for 
a  divorce.  You  will  say  to  him :  '  M.  Aubfepin,  de- 
liver me  from  my  wife.  Her  crime  is  being  pretty, 
very  pretty,  too  pretty.  I  wish  another  one  who 
is  ugly,  very  ugly,  who  has  Mme.  Renaud's  large 
nose,  colossal  foot,  pointed  chin,  skinny  shoulders, 
and  eternal  pimples.'  That's  what  you  want,  isn't 
it  ?  Come,  you  big  stupid,  kiss  your  poor  wife,  and 
forgive  her  for  not  being  a  monster." 

As  rather  lively  gestures  had  illustrated  this  lit- 


THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL   WOMAN    IN   PARIS         99 

tie  speech,  the  white  cashmere  dressing-gown  had 
slipped — slipped  a  good  deal,  and  had  opened,  very 
much  opened  ;  the  criminal  shoulders  were  within 
reach  of  M.  Derline's  lips — he  succumbed.  Be- 
sides, he  too  felt  the  abominable  influence  of  the 
press.  His  wife  had  never  seemed  so  pretty  to 
him,  and,  brought  back  to  subjection,  M.  Derline 
returned  to  his  study  in  order  to  make  money  for 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Paris. 

A  very  wise  and  opportune  occupation ;  for  scarce- 
ly was  Mme.  Derline  left  alone  when  an  idea 
flashed  through  her  head  which  was  to  call  forth 
a  very  pretty  collection  of  bank-notes  from  the  cash- 
box  of  the  lawyer  of  the  Rue  Dragon.  Mme. 
Derline  had  intended  wearing  to  the  Palmer's  ball 
a  dress  which  had  already  been  much  seen.  Mme. 
Derline  had  kept  the  dress -maker  of  her  wed- 
ding-dress, her  mother's  dress-maker,  a  dress-maker 
of  the  Left  Bank.  It  seemed  to  her  that  her  new 
position  imposed  new  duties  on  her.  She  could 
not  appear  at  the  Palmer's  without  a  dress  which 
had  not  been  seen,  and  stamped  with  a  well-known 
name.  She  ordered  the  carriage  in  the  afternoon, 
and  resolutely  gave  her  coachman  the  address  of 
one  of  the  most  illustrious  dress-makers  in  Paris. 
She  arrived  a  little  agitated,  and  to  reach  the  great 
artist  was  obliged  to  pass  through  a  veritable  crowd 


100  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

of  footmen,  who  were  in  the  antechamber  chatting 
and  laughing,  used  to  meeting  there  and  making 
long  stops.  Nearly  all  the  footmen  were  those  of 
society,  the  highest  society;  they  had  spent  the 
previous  evening  together  at  the  English  Embassy, 
and  were  to  be  that  evening  at  the  Duchess  of  Gre- 
moille. 

Mme.  Derline  entered  a  sumptuous  parlor ;  it 
was  very  sumptuous,  too  sumptuous.  Twenty  great 
customers  were  there — society  women  and  actresses, 
all  agitated,  anxious,  feverish — looking  at  the  beau- 
tiful tall  saleswomen  come  and  go  before  them, 
wearing  the  last  creations  of  the  master  of  the 
house.  The  great  artist  had  a  diplomatic  bearing : 
buttoned-up  black  frock-coat,  long  cravat  with  pin 
(a  present  from  a  royal  highness  who  paid  her 
bills  slowly),  and  a  many-colored  rosette  in  his 
button-hole  (the  gift  of  a  small  reigning  prince 
who  paid  slower  yet  the  bills  of  an  opera-dancer). 
He  came  and  went — precise,  calm,  and  cool — in 
the  midst  of  the  solicitations  and  supplications  of 
his  customers.  "  M.  Arthur  !  M.  Arthur !"  One 
heard  nothing  but  that  phrase.  He  was  M.  Arthur. 
He  went  from  one  to  the  other — respectful,  with- 
out too  much  humility,  to  the  duchesses,  and  easy, 
without  too  much  familiarity,  to  the  actresses. 
There  was  an  extraordinary  liveliness,  and  a  con- 


THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL   WOMAN    IN    PARIS        IOI 

fusion  of  marvellous  velvets,  satins,  and  embroid- 
ered, brocaded,  and  gold  or  silver  threaded  stuffs, 
all  thrown  here  and  there,  as  though  by  accident — 
but  what  science  in  that  accident — on  arm-chairs, 
tables,  and  divans. 

In  the  first  place  Mme.  Derline  ran  against  a 
shop-girl  who  was  bearing  with  outstretched  arms 
a  white  dress,  and  was  almost  hidden  beneath  a 
light  mountain  of  muslins  and  laces.  The  only 
thing  visible  was  the  shop-girl's  mussed  black 
hair  and  sly  suburban  expression.  Mme.  Derline 
backed  away,  wishing  to  place  herself  against  the 
wall ;  but  a  tryer-on  was  there,  a  large  energetic  bru- 
nette, who  spoke  authoritatively  in  a  high  staccato. 
"At  once,"  she  was  saying  —  "bring  me  at  once 
the  princess's  dress !" 

Frightehed  and  dazed,  Mme.  Derline  stood  in 
a  corner  and  watched  an  opportunity  to  seize  a 
saleswoman  on  the  fly.  She  even  thought  of  giv^ 
ing  up  the  game.  Never,  certainly,  should  she 
dare  to  address  directly  that  terrible  M.  Arthur, 
who  had  just  given  her  a  rapid  glance  in  which 
she  believed  to  have  read,  "Who  is  she?  She 
isn't  properly  dressed !  She  doesn't  go  to  a  fash- 
ionable dress  -  maker !"  At  last  Mme.  Derline 
succeeded  in  getting  hold  of  a  disengaged  sales- 
woman, and  there  was  the  same  slightly  disdainful 


102  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

glance — a  glance  which  was  accompanied  by  the 
phrase : 

"Madame  is  not  a  regular  customer  of  the 
house  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  customer — " 

"  And  you  wish  ?" 

"A  dress,  a  ball-dress  —  and  I  want  the  dress 
for  next  Thursday  evening — " 

"  Thursday  next !" 

"  Yes,  Thursday  next." 

"  Oh !  madame,  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of. 
Even  for  a  customer  of  the  house  it  would  be  im- 
possible." 

"  But  I  wished  it  so  much — " 

"  Go  and  see  M.  Arthur.     He  alone  can — " 

"  And  where  is  M.  Arthur  ?" 

"  In  his  office.  He  has  just  gone  into  his  office. 
Over  there,  madame,  opposite." 

Mme.  Derline,  through  a  half-open  door,  saw  a 
sombre  and  severe  but  luxurious  room — an  am- 
bassador's office.  On  the  walls  the  great  Euro- 
pean powers  were  represented  by  photographs — 
the  Empress  Eugenie,  the  Princess  of  Wales,  a 
grand  -  duchess  of  Russia,  and  an  archduchess 
of  Austria.  M.  Arthur  was  there  taking  a  few 
moments'  rest,  seated  in  a  large  arm-chair,  with 
an  air  of  lassitude  and  exhaustion,  and  with  a 


THE    MOST    BEAUTIFUL    WOMAN    IN    PARIS        103 

newspaper  spread  out  over  his  knees.  He  arose 
on  seeing  Mme.  Derline  enter.  In  a  trembling 
voice  she  repeated  her  wish. 

"  Oh,  madame,  a  ball  -  dress — a  beautiful  ball- 
dress — for  Thursday !  I  couldn't  make  such  a  prom- 
ise— I  couldn't  keep  it.  There  are  responsibilities 
to  which  I  never  expose  myself." 

He  spoke  slowly,  gravely,  as  a  man  conscious 
of  his  high  position. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  disappointed.  It  was  a  partic- 
ular occasion,  and  I  was  told  that  you  alone 
could—" 

Two  tears,  two  little  tears,  glittered  on  her  eye- 
lashes. M.  Arthur  was  moved.  A  woman,  a 
pretty  woman,  crying  there,  before  him !  Never 
had  such  homage  been  paid  to  his  genius. 

"Well,  madame,  I  am  willing  to  make  an  at- 
tempt. A  very  simple  dress — " 

"  Oh  no,  not  simple.  Very  brilliant,  on  the  con- 
trary—  everything  that  is  most  brilliant.  Two  of 
my  friends  are  customers  of  yours  (she  named 
them),  and  I  am  Mme.  Derline — " 

"  Mme.  Derline  !     You  are  Mme.  Derline  ?" 

The  two  Mme.  Derlines  were  followed  by  a 
glance  and  a  smile  — the  glance  was  at  the  news- 
paper and  the  smile  was  at  Mme.  Derline ;  but  it 
was  a  discreet,  self-contained  smile — the  smile  of 


104  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

a  perfectly  gallant  man.  This  is  what  the  glance 
and  smile  said  with  admirable  clearness  : 

"  Ah  !  you  are  Mme.  Derline — that  already  cele- 
brated Mme.  Derline  — who  yesterday  at  the  opera 
— I  understand,  I  understand — I  was  reading  just 
now  in  this  paper  —  words  are  no  longer  neces- 
sary— you  should  Rave  told  your  name  at  once — 
yes,  you  need  me ;  yes,  you  shall  have  your  dress ; 
yes,  I  want  to  divide  your  success  with  you." 

M.  Arthur  called : 

"Mademoiselle  Blanche,  come  here  at  once! 
Mademoiselle  Blanche !" 

And  turning  towards  Mme.  Derline,  he  said : 

"  She  has  great  talent,  but  I  shall  myself  su- 
perintend it ;  so  be  easy  —  yes,  I  myself." 

Mme.  Derline  was  a  little  confused,  a  little  em- 
barrassed by  her  glory,  but  happy  nevertheless. 
Mademoiselle  Blanche  came  forward. 

"  Conduct  madame,"  said  M.  Arthur,  "  and 
take  the  necessary  measures  for  a  ball -dress, 
very  low,  and  with  absolutely  bare  arms.  Dur- 
ing that  time,  madame,  I  am  going  to  think  seri- 
ously of  what  I  can  do  for  you.  It  must  be  some- 
thing entirely  new — ah  !  before  going,  permit  me — " 

He  walked  very  slowly  around  Mme.  Derline, 
and  examined  her  with  profound  attention ;  then 
he  walked  away,  and  considered  her  from  a  little 


THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL  WOMAN    IN   PARIS       105 

distance.  His  face  was  serious,  thoughtful,  and 
anxious.  A  great  thinker  wrestling  with  a  great 
problem.  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead, 
raised  his  eyes  to  the  sky,  getting  inspiration  by 
a  painful  delivery ;  but  suddenly  his  face  lit  up — 
the  spirit  from  above  had  answered. 

"Go,  madame,"  he  said,  "go.  Your  dress  is 
thought  out.  When  you  come  back,  mademoiselle, 
bring  me  that  piece  of  pink  satin ;  you  know,  the 
one  that  I  was  keeping  for  some  great  occasion." 

Thus  Mme.  Derline  found  herself  with  Mad- 
emoiselle Blanche  in  a  trying-on  room,  which  was 
a  sort  of  little  cabin  lined  with  mirrors.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour  later,  when  the  measures  had  been  taken, 
Mme.  Derline  came  b^ck  and  discovered  M.  Arthur 
in  the  midst  of  pieces  of  satin  of  all  colors,  of 
crepes,  of  tulles,  of  laces,  and  of  brocaded  stuffs. 

"  No,  no,  not  the  pink  satin,"  he  said  to  Mad- 
emoiselle Blanche,  who  was  bringing  the  asked- 
for  piece;  "no,  I  have  found  something  better. 
Listen  to  me.  This  is  what  I  wish  :  I  have 
given  up  the  pink,  and  I  have  decided  on  this,  this 
peach-colored  satin.  A  classic  robe,  outlining  all 
the  fine  lines  and  showing  the  suppleness  of  the 
body.  This  robe  must  be  very  clinging — hardly 
any  underskirts.  It  must  be  of  surah.  Madame 
must  be  melted  into  it — do  you  thoroughly  under- 


106  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF  VIEW 

stand  ?  —  absolutely  melted  into  the  robe.  We  will 
drop  over  the  dress  this  crepe  —  yes,  that  one,  but 
in  small,  light  pleats.  The  crepe  will  be  as  a  cloud 
thrown  over  the  dress  —  a  transparent,  vapory,  im- 
palpable cloud.  The  arms  are  to  be  absolutely 
bare,  as  I  already  told  you.  On  each  shoulder 
there  must  be  a  simple  knot,  showing  the  upper 
part  of  the  arm.  Of  what  is  the  knot  to  be  ?  I'm 
still  undecided — I  need  to  think  it  over — till  to- 
morrow, madame,  till  to-morrow." 

Mme.  Derline  came  back  the  next  day,  and  the 
next,  and  every  day  till  the  day  before  the  fa- 
mous Thursday ;  and  each  time  that  she  came  back, 
while  awaiting  her  turn  to  try  on,  she  ordered 
dresses,  very  simple  ones,  but  yet  costing  from 
seven  to  eight  hundred  francs  each. 

And  that  was  not  all.  On  the  day  of  her  first 
visit  to  M.  Arthur,  when  Mme.  Derline  came  out 
of  the  great  house,  she  was  broken-hearted  —  posi- 
tively broken-hearted  —  at  the  sight  of  her  broug- 
ham ;  it  really  did  make  a  pitiful  appearance  among 
all  the  stylish  carriages  which  were  waiting  in  three 
rows  and  taking  up  half  the  street.  It  was  the 
brougham  of  her  late  mother-in-law,  and  it  still 
rolled  through  the  streets  of  Paris  after  fifteen 
years'  service.  Mme.  Derline  got  into  the  woe- 
begone brougham  to  drive  straight  to  a  very  well- 


THE    MOST    BEAUTIFUL    WOMAN    IN    PARIS        107 

known  carriage-maker,  and  that  evening,  cleverly 
seizing  the  psychological  moment,  she  explained 
to  M.  Derline  that  she  had  seen  a  certain  little 
black  coup6  lined  with  blue  satin  that  would  frame 
delightfully  her  new  dresses. 

The  coupe  was  bought  the  "next  day  by  M. 
Derline,  who  also  was  beginning  fully  to  realize 
the  extent  of  his  new  duties.  But  the  next  day  it 
was  discovered  that  it  was  impossible  to  harness 
to  that  jewel  of  a  coupe  the  old  horse  who  had 
pulled  the  old  carriage,  and  no  less  impossible  to 
put  on  the  box  the  old  coachman  who  drove  the 
old  horse. 

This  is  how  on  Thursday,  April  25th,  at  half- 
past  ten  in  the  evening,  a  very  pretty  chestnut 
mare,  driven  by  a  very  correct  English  coachman, 
took  M.  and  Mme.  Derline  to  the  Palmer's.  They 
still  lacked  something — a  little  groom  to  sit  beside 
the  English  coachman.  But  a  certain  amount  of 
discretion  had  to  be  employed.  The  most  beau- 
tiful woman  in  Paris  intended  to  wait  ten  days  be- 
fore asking  for  the  little  groom. 

While  she  was  going  up-stairs  at  the  Palmer's, 
she  distinctly  felt  her  heart  beat  like  the  strokes  of 
a  hammer.  She  was  going  to  play  a  decisive  game. 
She  knew  that  the  Palmers  had  been  going  every- 
where, saying,  "  Come  on  Thursday ;  we  will  show 


108  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

you  Mme.  Derline,  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
Paris."  Curiosity  as  well  as  jealousy  had  been 
well  awakened. 

She  entered,  and  from  the  first  minute  she  had 
the  delicious  sensation  of  her  success.  Through- 
out the  long  gallery  of  the  Palmer's  house  it  was  a 
true  triumphal  march.  She  advanced  with  firm 
and  precise  step,  erect,  and  head  well  held.  She 
appeared  to  see  nothing,  to  hear  nothing,  but  how 
well  she  saw  !  how  well  she  felt  the  fire  of  all  those 
eyes  on  her  shoulders !  Around  her  arose  a  little 
murmur  of  admiration,  and  never  had  music  been 
sweeter  to  her. 

Yes,  decidedly,  all  went  well.  She  was  on  a  fair 
way  to  conquer  Paris.  And,  sure  of  herself,  at 
each  step  she  became  more  confident,  lighter,  and 
bolder,  as  she  advanced  on  Palmer's  arm,  who,  in 
passing,  pointed  out  the  counts,  the  marquises,  and 
the  dukes.  And  then  Palmer  suddenly  said  to  her : 

"  I  want  to  present  to  you  one  of  your  greatest 
admirers,  who,  the  other  night  at  the  opera,  spoke 
of  nothing  but  your  beauty ;  he  is  the  Prince  of 
Nerins." 

She  became  as  red  as  a  cherry.  Palmer  looked 
at  her  and  began  to  laugh. 

"  Ah,  you  read  the  other  day  in  that  paper  ?" 

"  I  read — yes,  I  read — " 


THE   MOST   BEAUTIFUL  WOMAN    IN    PARIS       109 

"  But  where  is  the  prince,  where  is  he  ?  I  saw 
him  during  the  day,  and  he  was  to  be  here  early." 

Mme.  Derline  was  not  to  see  the  Prince  of 
Nerins  that  evening.  And  yet  he  had  intended  to 
go  to  the  Palmers  and  preside  at  the  deification  of 
his  lawyeress.  He  had  dined  at  the  club,  and  had 
allowed  himself  to  be  dragged  off  to  a  first  per- 
formance at  a  minor  theatre.  An  operetta  of  the 
regulation  type  was  being  played.  The  principal 
personage  was  a  young  queen,  who  was  always 
escorted  by  the  customary  four  maids-of-honor. 

Three  of  these  young  ladies  were  very  well 
known  to  first-nighters,  as  having  already  figured 
in  the  tableaux  of  operettas  and  in  groups  of 
fairies,  but  the  fourth —  Oh,  the  fourth  !  She  was 
a  new  one,  a  tall  brunette  of  the  most  striking 
beauty.  The  prince  made  himself  remarked  more 
than  all  others  by  his  enthusiasm.  He  completely 
forgot  that  he  was  to  leave  after  the  first  act.  The 
play  was  over  very  late,  and  the  prince  was  still 
there,  having  paid  no  attention  to  the  piece  or  the 
music,  having  seen  nothing  but  the  wonderful 
brunette,  having  heard  nothing  but  the  stanza 
which  she  had  unworthily  massacred  in  the  middle 
of  the  second  act.  And  while  they  were  leaving 
the  theatre,  the  prince  was  saying  to  whoever 
would  listen : 


110  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

"  That  brunette !  oh,  that  brunette !  She  hasn't 
an  equal  in  any  theatre !  She  is  the  most  beauti- 
ful woman  in  Paris  !  The  most  beautiful !" 

It  was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  prince 
asked  himself  if  he  should  go  to  the  Palmers. 
Poor  Mme.  Derline;  she  was  of  very  slight  im- 
portance beside  this  new  wonder  !  And  then,  too, 
the  prince  was  a  methodical  man.  The  hour  for 
whist  had  arrived ;  so  he  departed  to  play  whist. 

The  following  morning  Mme.  Derline  found  ten 
lines  on  the  Palmer's  ball  in  the  "society  col- 
umn." There  was  mention  of  the  marquises,  the 
countesses,  and  the  duchesses  who  were  there,  but 
about  Mme.  Derline  there  was  not  a  word — not  a 
word. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  writer  of  theatrical  gossip 
celebrated  in  enthusiastic  terms  the  beauty  of  that 
ideal  maid-of-honor,  and  said,  "Besides,  the  Prince 
of  Nerins  declared  that  Mademoiselle  Miranda  was 
indisputedly  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Paris  /" 

Mme.  Derline  threw  the  paper  in  the  fire.  She 
did  not  wish  her  husband  to  know  that  she  was 
already  not  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Paris. 

She  has,  however,  kept  the  great  dress-maker 
and  the  English  coachman,  but  she  never  dared  to 
ask  for  the  little  groom. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  BALL-DRESS 


THE  STORY  OF  A  BALL- DRESS 

WHEN  the  women  of  the  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth centuries  write  their  memoirs  they  boldly 
present  themselves  to  the  reader  thus :  "  I  have  a 
well-shaped  mouth,"  said  the  Marquise  of  Cour- 
celles,  "  beautiful  lips,  pearly  teeth,  good  forehead, 
cheeks,  and  expression,  finely  chiselled  throat,  di- 
vine hands,  passable  arms  (that  is  to  say,  they  are 
a  little  thin);  but  I  find  consolation  for  that  misfort- 
une in  the  fact  that  I  have  the  prettiest  legs  in 
the  world." 

And  I  will  follow  the  marquise's  example.  Here 
is  my  portrait :  Overskirt  of  white  illusion  trimmed 
with  fringe,  and  three  flounces  of  blond  alternat- 
ing with  the  fringe ;  court  mantle  of  cherry  silk 
girt  by  a  high  flounce  of  white  blond  which  falls 
over  the  fringe  and  is  caught  up  by  Marie  An- 
toinette satin  ;  two  other  flounces  of  blond  are 
placed  behind  at  intervals  above ;  on  each  side 
from  the  waist  up  are  facings  composed  of  little 
alternating  flounces  of  blond,  looped  up  with  satin  ; 
the  big  puff  behind  is  bound  by  a  flounce  of  white 

8 


114  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF  VIEW 

blond.  A  little  white  waist,  the  front  and  shoul- 
der-straps of  which  are  of  satin  trimmed  with  blond. 
Belt  of  red  satin  with  large  red  butterfly. 

The  world  was  made  in  six  days,  I  in  three.  And 
yet  I  too  am  in  the  world — a  little  complicated  world 
of  silk,  satin,  blond,  loops,  and  fringes.  Did  God 
rest  while  he  was  making  the  world  ?  I  do  not 
know ;  but  I  do  know  that  the  scissors  that  cut 
me  out  and  the  needle  that  sewed  me  rested  nei- 
ther day  nor  night  from  Monday  evening,  January 
24,  1870,  to  Thursday  morning,  January  27th.  The 
slashes  of  the  scissors  and  the  pricks  of  the  needle 
caused  me  great  pain  at  first,  but  I  soon  paid  no 
attention  to  them  at  all.  I  began  to  observe  what 
was  going  on,  to  understand  that  I  was  becoming 
a  dress,  and  to  discover  that  the  dress  would  be  a 
marvel.  From  time  to  time  M.  Worth  came  him- 
self to  pay  me  little  visits.  "  Take  in  the  waist," 
he  would  say,  "  add  more  fringe,  spread  out  the 
train,  enlarge  the  butterfly,"  etc. 

One  thing  worried  me  :  For  whom  was  I  intend- 
ed ?  I  knew  the  name,  nothing  more — the  Baron- 
ess Z .  Princess  would  have  been  better ;  but 

still,  baroness  did  very  well.  I  was  ambitious.  I 
dreaded  the  theatre.  It  remained  to  be  seen  wheth- 
er this  baroness  was  young,  pretty,  and  equal  to 
wearing  me  boldly,  and  whether  she  had  a  figure 


THE   STORY   OF  A   BALL-DRESS  115 

to  show  me  off  to  advantage.  I  was  horribly  afraid 
of  falling  into  the  hands  of  an  ugly  woman,  a  pro- 
vincial, or  an  old  coquette. 

How  perfectly  reassured  I  was  as  soon  as  I  saw 
the  baroness !  Small,  delicate,  supple,  stylish,  a 
fairy  waist,  the  shoulders  of  a  goddess,  and,  be- 
sides all  this,  a  certain  little  air  of  audacity,  of  rail- 
lery, but  in  exquisite  moderation. 

I  was  spread  out  on  a  large  pearl-gray  lounge, 
and  I  was  received  with  marks  of  frank  admiration. 
M.  Worth  had  been  good  enough  to  bring  me  him- 
self, and  he  didn't  trouble  himself  about  all  dresses. 

"  How  original !"  exclaimed  the  little  baroness ; 
"  how  new  !  But  very  dear,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  One  thousand  and  fifty  francs." 

"  One  thousand  and  fifty  francs !  And  I  fur- 
nished the  lace !  Ah,  how  quickly  I  should  leave 
you  if  I  didn't  owe  you  so  much !  For  I  owe  you 
a  lot  of  money." 

"  Oh,  very  little,  baroness — very  little." 

"  No,  no  ;  a  great  deal.  But  we  will  discuss  that 
another  day." 

That  evening  I  made  my  first  appearance  in  so- 
ciety, and  I  came  out  at  the  Tuileries.  We  both 
of  us,  the  baroness  and  myself,  had  an  undeniable 
success.  When  the  Empress  crossed  the  Salon  of 
Diana,  making  pleasant  remarks  to  the  right  and 


116  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

left,  she  had  the  graciousness  to  stop  before  us  and 
make  the  following  remark,  which  seemed  to  me 
extremely  witty,  "Ah,  baroness,  what  a  dress  — 
what  a  dress  !  It's  a  dream !"  On  that  occasion 
the  Empress  wore  a  dress  of  white  tulle  dotted  with 
silver,  on  a  design  of  cloudy  green,  with  epaulettes 
of  sable.  It  was  queer,  not  ineffective,  but  in 
doubtful  taste. 

We  received  much  attention,  the  baroness  and  I. 
The  new  Minister,  M.  Emile  Ollivier,  was  presented 
to  us ;  we  received  him  coldly,  as  the  little  baron- 
ess did  not  approve,  I  believe,  of  liberal  reforms, 
and  looked  for  nothing  good  from  them.  We  had 
a  long  chat  on  the  window-seat  with  the  Marshal 
Lebceuf.  The  only  topic  during  that  interesting 
conversation  was  the  execution  of  Troppmann.  It 
was  the  great  event  of  the  week. 

At  two  o'clock  we  left — the  baroness,  I,  and  the 
baron.  For  there  was  a  husband,  who  for  the  time 
being  was  crowded  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage, 
and  hidden  under  the  mass  of  my  skirts  and  of  my 
train,  which  was  thrown  back  on  him  all  in  a  heap. 

"Confess,  Edward,"  said  the  little  baroness — 
"  confess  that  I  was  pretty  to-night." 

"  Very." 

"  And  my  dress  ?" 

"  Oh,  charming !" 


THE   STORY    OF   A    BALL-DRESS  117 

"You  say  that  indolently,  without  spirit  or  en- 
thusiasm. I  know  you  well.  You  think  I've  been 
extravagant.  Well,  indeed  I  haven't.  Do  you 
know  how  much  this  dress  cost  me  ?  Four  hun- 
dred francs — not  a  centime  more." 

We  arrived  home,  which  was  a  step  from  the 
Tuileries,  in  the  Place  Vendome.  The  baron  went 
to  his  rooms,  the  baroness  to  hers  ;  and  while  Her- 
mance,  the  maid,  cleverly  and  swiftly  untied  all  my 
rosettes  and  took  out  the  pins,  the  little  baroness 
kept  repeating :  "  How  becoming  this  dress  is  to 
me !  And  I  seem  to  become  it,  too.  I  shall  wear 
it  on  Thursday,  Hermance,  to  go  to  the  Austrian 
Embassy.  Wait  a  minute,  till  I  see  the  effect  of 
the  butterfly  in  the  back.  Bring  the  lamp  nearer ; 
nearer  yet.  Yes,  that's  it.  Ah,  how  pretty  it  is ! 
I  am  enchanted  with  this  dress,  Hermance — really 
enchanted !" 

If  the  little  baroness  was  enchanted  with  me,  I 
was  equally  enchanted  with  the  baroness.  We  two 
made  the  most  tender,  the  most  intimate,  and  the 
most  united  of  families.  We  comprehended,  un- 
derstood, and  completed  each  other  so  well.  I 
had  not  to  do  with  one  of  those  mechanical  dolls 
— stupidly  and  brutally  laced  into  a  padded  corset. 
Between  the  little  baroness  and  myself  there  was 
absolutely  nothing  but  lace  and  fine  linen.  We 


Il8  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

could  confidentially  and  surely  depend  on  one  an- 
other. The  beauty  of  the  little  baroness  was  a  real 
beauty,  without  garniture,  conjuring,  or  trickery. 

So  the  following  Thursday  I  went  to  the  Aus- 
trian Embassy,  and  a  week  later  to  the  Princess 
Mathilde's.  But,  alas !  the  next  morning  the  little 
baroness  said  to  her  maid :  "  Hermance,  take  that 
dress  to  the  reserve.  I  love  it,  and  I'd  wear  it 
every  evening;  but  it  has  been  seen  sufficiently 
for  this  winter.  Yesterday  several  people  said  to 
me,  '  Ah,  that's  your  dress  of  the  Tuileries ;  it's 
your  dress  of  the  Austrian  Embassy.'  It  must  be 
given  up  till  next  year.  Good-bye,  dear  little 
dress." 

And,  having  said  that,  she  placed  her  charming 
lips  at  hap-hazard  among  my  laces  and  kissed  me 
in  the  dearest  way  in  the  world.  Ah,  how  pleased 
and  proud  I  was  of  that  childish  and  sweet  fellow- 
ship !  I  remembered  that  the  evening  before,  on 
our  return,  the  little  baroness  had  kissed  her 
husband ;  but  the  kiss  she  had  given  him  was  a 
quick,  dry  kiss  —  one  of  those  hurried  kisses  with 
which  one  wishes  to  get  through ;  whereas  my  kiss 
had  been  prolonged  and  passionate.  She  had 
cordiality  for  the  baron,  and  love  for  me.  The 
little  baroness  wasn't  twenty,  and  she  was  a  co- 
quette to  the  core.  I  say  this,  in  the  first  place, 


THE   STORY   OF   A    BALL-DRESS  119 

to  excuse  her,  and,  in  the  second  place,  to  give  an 
exact  impression  of  her  character. 

So  at  noon,  in  the  arms  of  Hermance,  I  made 
my  entry  to  the  reserve.  It  was  a  dormitory  of 
dresses,  an  immense  room  on  the  third  story,  very 
large,  and  lined  with  wardrobes  of  white  oak,  care- 
fully locked.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  was  an 
ottoman,  on  which  Hermance  deposited  me ;  after 
which  she  slid  back  ten  or  twelve  wardrobe  doors, 
one  after  the  other.  Dresses  upon  dresses!  I 
should  never  be  able  to  tell  how  many.  All  were 
hung  in  the  air  by  silk  tape  on  big  triangles.  Her- 
mance, however,  seemed  much  embarrassed. 

"  In  the  reserve,"  she  murmured,  "  in  the  re- 
serve ;  that  is  easy  to  say.  But  where  is  there  any 
room  ?  And  this  one  needs  a  lot."  At  last  Her- 
mance, after  having  given  a  number  of  little  taps 
to  the  right  and  left,  succeeded  in  making  a  sort  of 
slit,  into  which  I  had  great  difficulty  in  sliding. 
Hermance  gave  me  and  my  neighbors  some  more 
little  taps  to  lump  us  together,  and  then  shut  the 
door.  Darkness  reigned.  I  was  placed  between  a 
blue  velvet  dress  and  a  mauve  satin  one. 

Towards  the  end  of  April  we  received  a  visit 
from  the  little  baroness,  and  in  consequence  of 
that  visit  there  was  great  disturbance.  Winter 
dresses  were  hung  up ;  spring  dresses  were  got 


120  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

down.  At  the  beginning  of  July  another  visit, 
another  disturbance — entry  of  the  costumes  from 
the  races  ;  departure  of  others  for  the  watering- 
places.  I  lost  my  neighbor  to  the  right,  the  mauve 
dress,  and  kept  my  neighbor  on  the  left,  the  blue 
dress,  a  cross  and  crabbed  person  who  was  forever 
groaning,  complaining,  and  saying  to  me,  "  Oh,  my 
dear,  you  do  take  up  so  much  room ;  do  get  out  of 
the  way  a  little."  I  must  admit  that  the  poor  blue 
velvet  dress  was  much  to  be  pitied.  It  was  three 
years  old,  having  been  a  part  of  the  little  baron- 
ess's trousseau,  and  had  never  been  worn.  "A  high- 
neck  blue  velvet  dress,  at  my  age,  with  my  shoul- 
ders and  arms !"  had  exclaimed  the  little  baroness  ; 
"  I  should  look  like  a  grandmother  !"  Thus  it  was 
decreed,  and  the  unfortunate  blue  dress  had  gone 
from  the  trousseau  straight  to  the  reserve. 

A  week  or  ten  days  after  the  departure  of  the 
dresses  for  Baden-Baden  we  heard  a  noise,  the 
voices  of  women,  and  all  the  doors  were  opened. 
It  was  the  little  baroness,  who  had  brought  her 
friend  the  Countess  N . 

"  Sit  there,  my  dear,  on  that  ottoman,"  said  the 
little  baroness.  "  I  have  come  to  look  over  my 
dresses.  I  am  very  hurried  ;  I  arrived  but  just 
now  from  Baden,  and  I  start  again  to  -  night  for 
Anjou.  We  can  chatter  while  Hermance  shows 


THE   STORY    OF   A    BALL-DRESS  121 

me  the  dresses.  Oh,  those  Prussians,  my  dear,  the 
monsters !  We  had  to  run  away,  Blanche  and  my- 
self, like  thieves.  (Very  simple  dresses,  Hermance, 
every-day  dresses,  and  walking  and  boating  dresses.) 
Yes,  my  dear,  like  thieves !  They  threw  stones  at 
us,  real  stones,  in  the  Avenue  of  Lichtental,  and 
called  us  'Rascally  Frenchwomen  !  French  rabble !' 
The  Emperor  did  well  to  declare  war  against  such 
people.  (Dresses  for  horseback,  Hermance — my 
brown  riding-habit.)  At  any  rate,  there's  no  need 
to  worry.  My  husband  dined  yesterday  with  Guy ; 
you  know,  the  tall  Guy,  who  is  an  aide  of  Leboeuf. 
Well,  we  are  ready,  admirably  ready,  and  the  Prus- 
sians not  at  all.  (Very  simple,  I  said,  Hermance. 
You  are  showing  me  ball-dresses.  I  don't  intend 
to  dance  during  the  war.)  And  then,  my  dear,  it 
seems  that  this  war  was  absolutely  necessary  from 
a  dynastic  point  of  view.  I  don't  quite  know 
why,  but  I  tell  it  to  you  as  I  heard  it.  (These 
dozen  dresses,  Hermance,  will  be  sufficient.  But 
there  are  thirteen.  I  never  could  have  thirteen. 
Take  away  the  green  one ;  or,  no,  add  another — 
that  blue  one ;  that's  all.)  Now  let's  go  down,  my 
dear." 

Whereupon  she  departed.  So  war  was  declared, 
and  with  Prussia.  I  was  much  moved.  I  was  a 
French  dress  and  a  Bonapartist  dress.  I  was 


122  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF    VIEW 

afraid  for  France  and  afraid  for  the  dynasty,  but  the 
words  of  the  tall  Guy  were  so  perfectly  reassuring. 

For  two  months  there  was  no  news ;  but  about 
the  xoth  of  September  the  little  baroness  arrived 
with  Hermance.  She  was  very  pale,  poor  little 
baroness — very  pale  and  agitated. 

"  Dark  dresses,  Hermance,"  she  said,  "  black 
dresses.  I  know!  What  remains  of  Aunt  Pau- 
line's mourning?  There  must  remain  quite  a  lot 
of  things.  You  see,  I  am  too  sad — " 

"  But  if  madame  expects  to  remain  long  in  Eng- 
land ?" 

"  Ah  !  as  long  as  the  Republic  lasts." 

"  Then  it  may  be  a  long  time." 

"  What  do  you  mean  —  a  long  time  ?  What  do 
you  mean,  Hermance  ?  Who  can  tell  you  such 
things  ?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  if  I  were  madame  I'd  take 
for  precaution's  sake  a  few  winter  dresses,  a  few 
evening-dresses — " 

"  Evening-dresses  !  Why,  what  are  you  thinking 
of  ?  I  shall  go  nowhere,  Hermance,  alone  in  Eng- 
land, without  my  husband,  who  stays  in  Paris  in 
the  National  Guard." 

"  But  if  madame  should  go  to  see  their  Majesties 
in  England  ?" 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  shall,  Hermance." 


THE   STORY   OF   A    BALL-DRESS  123 

"  Well,  it's  because  I  know  madame's  feelings 
and  views  that — " 

"  You  are  right ;  put  in  some  evening-dresses." 
"  Will  madame  take  her  last  white  satin  dress  ?" 
"  Oh  no,  not  that  one ;  it  would  be  too  sad  a 
memory  for  the  Empress,  who  noticed  it  at  the  last 
ball  at  the  Tuileries.     And  then  the  dress  wouldn't 
stand  the  voyage.     My  poor  white  satin    dress ! 
Shall  I  ever  wear  it  again  ?" 

That  is  why  I  did  not  emigrate,  and  how  I  found 
myself  blockaded  in  Paris  during  the  siege.  From 
the  few  words  that  we  had  heard  of  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  little  baroness  and  Hermance  we  had  a 
pretty  clear  idea  of  the  situation.  The  Empire  was 
overthrown  and  the  Republic  proclaimed.  The 
Republic  !  There  were  among  us  several  old  fam- 
ily laces  who  had  seen  the  first  Republic — that  of 
'93.  The  Reign  of  Terror  !  Ah,  what  tales  they 
told  us  !  The  fall  of  the  Empire,  however,  did  not 
displease  these  old  laces,  who  were  all  Legitimists 
or  Orleanists.  In  my  neighborhood,  on  a  goose- 
berry satin  skirt,  there  were  four  flounces  of  lace 
who  had  had  the  honor  of  attending  the  coronation 
of  Charles  X.,  and  who  were  delighted,  and  kept 
saying  to  us :  "  The  Bonapartes  brought  about  in- 
vasion •  invasion  brings  back  the  Bourbons.  Long 
live  Henry  V. !" 


124  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

We  all  had,  however,  a  common  preoccupation. 
Should  we  remain  in  style  ?  We  were  nearly  all 
startling,  risky,  and  loud — so  much  so  that  we  were 
quite  anxious,  except  three  or  four  quiet  dresses, 
velvet  and  dark  cloth  dresses,  who  joined  in  the 
chorus  with  the  old  laces,  and  said  to  us :  "  Ah, 
here's  an  end  to  the  carnival,  to  this  masquerade 
of  an  empire !  Republic  or  monarchy,  little  we  care; 
we  are  sensible  and  in  good  taste."  We  felt  they  were 
somewhat  in  the  right  in  talking  thus.  From  Sep- 
tember to  February  we  remained  shut  up  in  the  ward- 
robes, wrangling  with  each  other,  listening  to  the 
cannon,  and  knowing  nothing  of  what  was  going  on. 

Towards  the  middle  of  February  all  the  doors 
were  opened.  It  was  the  little  baroness  —  the  lit- 
tle baroness ! 

"  Ah  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  my  dresses,  my  beloved 
dresses,  there  they  are ;  how  happy  I  am  to  see 
them  !" 

We  could  say  nothing ;  but  we,  too,  were  very 
happy  to  see  the  little  baroness. 

"  Now,  then,  Hermance,';  continued  the  little 
baroness,  "  let  us  hunt  around  a  little.  What  can 
I  take  to  Bordeaux  ?  After  such  disasters  I  must 
have  quiet  and  sombre  dresses." 

"  Madame  hasn't  very  many." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Hermance,  I  have  dark 


THE   STORY   OF    A    BALL-DRESS  125 

dresses  —  this  one  and  that  one.  The  blue  velvet 
dress  !  The  blue  velvet  dress  is  just  the  thing,  and 
I've  never  worn  it." 

And  so  my  neighbor  the  blue  dress  was  taken 
down,  and  was  at  last  going  to  make  her  first  ap- 
pearance in  the  world.  However,  the  little  baron- 
ess herself,  with  great  activity,  rummaged  round  in 
the  wardrobes. 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  she  said;  "four  or  five 
dresses  only.  All  the  rest  are  impossible,  and 
would  not  accord  with  the  Government  we  shall 
have  in  Bordeaux.  Well,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  have 
some  republican  dresses  made  —  very  moderate  re- 
publican, but  still  republican." 

The  little  baroness  went  away,  to  come  back  a 
month  later,  always  with  Hermance,  who  was  an  ex- 
cellent maid,  and  much  thought  of  by  her  mistress. 
New  deliberation. 

"  Hermance,"  said  the  little  baroness,  "  what  can 
I  take  to  Versailles  ?  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to 
have  a  little  more  freedom.  There  will  be  recep- 
tions and  dinners  with  M.  Thiers ;  then  the  princes 
are  coming.  I  might  risk  transition  dresses.  Do 
you  know  what  I  mean  by  that,  Hermance  —  tran- 
sition dresses  ?" 

"  Perfectly,  madame  —  pearl  grays,  mauves,  vio- 
lets, lilacs." 


126  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

"  Yes,  that's  it,  Hermance ;  light  but  quiet  colors. 
You  are  an  invaluable  maid.  You  understand  me 
perfectly." 

The  little  baroness  started  for  Versailles  with  a 
collection  of  transition  dresses.  There  must  have 
been  twenty.  It  was  a  good  beginning,  and  rilled 
us  with  hope.  She  had  begun  at  Bordeaux  with 
sombre  colors,  and  continued  on  at  Versailles  with 
light  ones.  Versailles  was  evidently  only  a  step- 
ping-stone between  Bordeaux  and  Paris.  The  little 
baroness  was  soon  coming  back  to  Paris,  and  once 
the  little  baroness  was  in  Paris  we  could  feel  as- 
sured that  we  should  not  stay  long  in  the  wardrobes. 

But  it  happened  that  a  few  days  after  the  depart- 
ure of  the  little  baroness  for  Versailles  we  heard 
loud  firing  beneath  the  windows  of  the  house  (we 
lived  in  the  Place  Vendome).  Was  it  another  re- 
volt, another  revolution  ?  For  a  week  nothing  more 
was  heard  ;  there  was  silence.  Then  at  the  end  of 
that  week  the  cannonade  began  around  Paris  worse 
than  ever.  Was  the  war  recommencing  with  the 
Prussians  ?  Was  it  a  new  siege  ? 

The  days  passed,  and  the  boom  of  the  cannon 
continued.  Finally,  one  morning  there  was  a  great 
racket  in  the  court -yard  of  our  house.  Cries, 
threats,  oaths !  The  noise  came  up  and  up.  Great 
blows  with  the  butt  ends  of  muskets  were  struck 


THE    STORY    OF   A    BALL-DRESS  127 

on  the  wardrobe  doors.  They  were  smashed  in^ 
and  we  perceived  eight  or  ten  slovenly  looking, 
dirty,  and  bearded  men.  Arnqng  these  men  was  a 
woman,  a  little  brunette ;  fairly  pretty,  I  must  say, 
but  queerly  gotten  up.  A  black  dress  with  a  short 
skirt,  little  boots  with  red  bows,  a  round  gray  felt 
hat  with  a  large  red  plume,  and  a  sort  of  red  scarf 
worn  crosswise.  It  was  a  peculiar  style,  but  it  was 
style  all  the  same. 

"  Oh,  oh  !"  exclaimed  the  little  woman,  "  here's 
luck  1  What  a  lot  of  dresses  !  Well,  clear  away  all 
this,  sergeant,  and  take  those  duds  to  headquar- 
ters." 

Then  all  those  men  threw  themselves  upon  us 
with  a  sort  of  fury.  We  felt  ourselves  gripped  and 
dishonored  by  coarse,  dirty  hands. 

"  Don't  soil  them  too  much,  citizens,"  the  little 
woman  would  cry.  "  Do  them  up  in  packages,  and 
take  the  packages  down  to  the  ammunition-wagon." 

The  headquarters  was  the  apartment  of  the  young 
lady  of  the  red  plume.  Our  new  mistress  was  the 
wife  of  a  general  of  the  Commune.  We  were  des- 
tined to  remain  official  dresses.  Official  during  the 
Empire,  and  official  during  the  Commune.  The 
first  thought  of  Mme.  General  was  to  hold  a  review 
of  us,  and  I  had  the  honor  of  being  the  object  of 
her  special  attention  and  admiration. 


128  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

"  Ah,  look,  Etnile  !"  (Emile  was  the  General.) 
"  Look !  this  is  the  toniest  of  the  whole  concern. 
I'll  keep  it  for  the  Tuileries." 

I  was  to  be  kept  for  the  Tuileries !  What  tales 
of  woe  and  what  lamentations  there  were  in  the 
sort  of  alcove  where  we  were  thrown  like  rags ! 
Mme.  General  went  into  society  every  evening,  and 
never  put  on  the  same  dress  twice.  My  poor  com- 
panions the  day  after  told  me  their  adventures  of 
the  day  before.  This  one  had  dined  at  Citizen 
Raoul  Rigault's,  the  Prefecture  of  Police  ;  that  one 
attended  a  performance  of  "  Andromaque  "  at  the 
Theatre  Frangais,  in  the  Empress's  box,  etc.  At 
last  it  was  my  turn.  The  i7th  of  May  was  the 
day  of  the  grand  concert  at  the  Tuileries. 

Oh,  my  dear  little  baroness,  what  had  become 
of  you  ?  Where  were  your  long  soft  muslin  petti- 
coats and  your  fine  white  satin  corsets?  Where 
were  your  transparent  linen  chemisettes  ?  Mme. 
General  had  coarse  petticoats  of  starched  calico. 
Mme.  General  wore  such  a  corset !  Mme.  General 
had  such  a  crinoline  !  My  poor  skirts  of  lace  and 
satin  were  abominably  stiffened  and  tossed  about 
by  the  hard  crinoline  hoops.  As  to  the  basque, 
the  strange  thing  happened  that  the  basque  of  the 
little  baroness  was  much  too  tight  for  Mme.  General 
at  the  waist,  and,  on  the  contrary,  above  the  waist 


THE   STORY   OF    A    BALL-DRESS  129 

it  was —  I  really  do  not  know  how  to  explain  such 
things.  At  any  rate,  it  was  just  the  opposite  of 
small,  so  much  so  that  it  had  to  be  padded.  Hor- 
rible !  Most  horrible ! 

At  ten  that  evening  I  was  climbing  for  the  sec- 
ond time  the  grand  staircase  of  the  Tuileries,  in 
the  midst  of  a  dense  and  ignoble  mob.  One  of  the 
General's  aides-de-camp  tried  in  vain  to  open  a  pas- 
sage. 

"  Room,  room,  for  the  wife  of  the  General !"  he 
cried. 

Much  they  cared  for  the  wife  of  the  General ! 
Great  big  boots  trampled  on  my  train,  sharp  spurs 
tore  my  laces,  and  the  bones  of  the  corsets  of  Mme. 
General  hurt  me  terribly. 

At  midnight  I  returned  to  Mme.  General's  den.  I 
returned  in  rags,  shreds,  soiled,  dishonored,  and 
stained  with  wine,  tobacco,  and  mud.  A  hateful 
little  maid  brutally  tore  me  from  the  shoulders  of 
Mme.  General,  and  said  to  her  mistress  : 

"  Well,  madame,  was  it  beautiful  ?" 

"  No,  Victoria,"  replied  Mme.  General,  "  it  was  too 
mixed.  But  do  hurry  up !  tear  it  off  if  it  won't  come. 
I  know  where  to  find  others  at  the  same  price." 

And  I  was  thrown  like  a  rag  on  a  heap  of  pieces. 
The  heap  of  pieces  was  composed  of  ball-dresses 
of  the  little  baroness. 


130  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

One  morning,  three  or  four  days  later,  the  aide- 
de-camp  rushed  in,  crying,  "  The  Versaillists  !  The 
Versaillists  are  in  Paris !" 

Thereupon  Mme.  General  put  on  a  sort  of  military 
costume,  took  two  revolvers,  filled  them  with  car- 
tridges, and  hung  them  on  a  black  leather  belt 
which  she  wore  around  her  waist.  "  Where  is  the 
General  ?"  she  said  to  the  aide-de-camp. 

"  At  the  Tuileries." 

"Very  well,  I  shall  go  there  with  you."  And 
on  that  she  departed,  with  her  little  gray  felt  hat 
jauntily  tilted  over  her  ear. 

The  cannonade  and  firing  redoubled  and  came 
nearer.  Evidently  there  was  fighting  very  near  us, 
quite  close  to  us.  The  next  day  towards  noon  we 
saw  them  both  come  back,  the  General  and  Mme. 
General.  And  in  what  a  condition !  Panting, 
frightened,  forbidding,  with  clothes  white  with 
dust,  and  hands  and  faces  black  with  powder. 
The  General  was  wounded  in  the  left  hand ;  he 
had  twisted  around  his  wrist  a  handkerchief  bathed 
in  blood. 

"  Does  your  arm  hurt  you  ?"  Mme.  General  said 
to  him. 

"  It  stings  a  little,  that's  all." 

"  Are  they  following  us  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so." 


THE   STORY   OF   A    BALL-DRESS  131 

"  Listen !    There  are  noises,  shouts." 

"  Look  out  of  the  window  without  showing  your- 
self." 

"  The  red  trousers  !    They  are  here  !" 

"  Lock  and  bolt  the  door.  Get  the  revolvers  and 
load  them.  I  can't  on  account  of  my  arm.  This 
wound  is  a  bore." 

"  You  are  so  pale  !" 

"  Yes ;  I  am  losing  blood — a  good  deal  of  blood." 

"  They  are  coming  up  the  stairs  !" 

"  Into  the  alcove — let  us  go  into  the  alcove,  on 
the  dresses." 

"  Here  they  are !" 

"  Give  me  the  revolver." 

The  door  gave  way  violently  under  the  hammer- 
ing of  the  butts  of  the  guns.  A  shower  of  bullets 
fell  on  us  and  around  us.  The  General,  with  a  sin- 
gle movement,  fell  heavily  at  full  length  on  the  bed 
of  silk,  muslin,  and  laces  that  we  made  for  him. 
Three  or  four  men  with  red  trousers  threw  them- 
selves on  Mme.  General,  who  fought,  bit,  and 
screamed,  "  Assassins !  assassins  !" 

A  soldier  tore  away  the  bell-cord,  firmly  tied  her 
hands,  and  carried  her  away  like  a  bundle.  She 
continued  to  repeat,  in  a  strangled  voice,  "  Assas- 
sins !  assassins  !"  The  soldiers  approached  the  al- 
cove and  looked  at  the  General.  "  As  to  him,"  they 


132  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF    VIEW 

said,  "he's  done  for;  he  doesn't  need  anything 
more.  Let's  be  off." 

They  left  us,  and  we  remained  there  for  two  days, 
crushed  beneath  that  corpse  and  covered  with  blood. 
Finally,  at  the  end  of  those  two  days,  a  man  arrived 
who  was  called  a  Commissioner,  and  who  wore  a 
tricolored  scarf  around  his  waist.  "This  corpse 
has  been  forgotten,"  he  said.  "  Take  it  away." 

They  tried  to  lift  the  body,  but  with  fingers  stiff- 
ened by  death  the  General  held  my  big  cherry  satin 
butterfly.  They  had  nearly  to  break  his  fingers  to 
get  it  out. 

Meantime  the  Commissioner  examined  and 
searched  curiously  among  that  brilliant  heap  of 
rags  on  which  the  General  had  died.  My  waist 
appeared  to  catch  his  eye.  "  Here  is  a  mark,"  he 
said  to  one  of  his  men — "  a  mark  inside  the  waist, 
with  the  name  and  number  of  the  maker.  We  can 
learn  where  these  dresses  came  from.  Wrap  this 
waist  in  a  newspaper  and  I'll  take  it." 

They  wrapped  me  in  an  old  number  of  the  Official 
Journal  of  the  Commune.  The  following  day  we 
went  to  M.  Worth,  the  Commissioner  and  I.  The 
conversation  was  not  long. 

"Was  this  dress  made  by  you?"  the  Commis- 
sioner asked. 

"  Yes ;  here's  the  mark." 


THE    STORY    OF   A    BALL-DRESS  133 

"  And  for  whom  was  it  made  ?" 

"Number  18,223.  Wait  a  moment;  I'll  consult 
my  books."  The  dress  -  maker  came  back  in  five 
minutes,  and  said  to  the  Commissioner,  "  It  was  for 

the  Baroness  Z that  I  made  this  dress,  eighteen 

months  ago,  and  it  isn't  paid  for." 


THE   INSURGENT 


THE    INSURGENT 

"  PRISONER,"  said  the  President  of  the  Council 
of  War,  "have  you  anything  to  add  in  your  de- 
fence ?" 

"  Yes,  colonel,"  replied  the  prisoner.  "  The  little 
lawyer  you  assigned  me  defended  me  according  to 
his  idea;  I  want  to  defend  myself  according  to 
mine. 

"  My  name  is  Martin  (Lewis  Joseph).  I  am  fifty- 
five  years  old.  My  father  was  a  locksmith.  He  had 
a  little  shop  in  the  upper  part  of  the  Saint -Mar- 
tin Quarter,  and  had  a  fair  business.  We  just 
existed.  I  learned  to  read  in  the  National,  which 
was,  I  believe,  the  paper  of  M.  Thiers. 

"On  the  27th  of  July,  1830,  my  father  went  out 
very  early.  That  evening,  at  ten  o'clock,  he  was 
brought  back  to  us  on  a  litter,  dying.  He  had  re- 
ceived a  bullet  in  the  chest.  Beside  him  on  the 
litter  was  his  musket. 

" '  Take  it,'  he  said  to  me.  *  I  give  it  to  you ;  and 
every  time  there  is  a  riot,  be  against  the  Govern- 
ment— always,  always,  always !' 


138  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

"  An  hour  later  he  was  dead.  I  went  out  in  the 
night.  At  the  first  barricade  I  stopped  and  offered 
myself ;  a  man  examined  me  by  the  light  of  a  lan- 
tern. '  A  child !'  he  exclaimed.  I  was  not  fifteen. 
I  was  very  slight  and  undersized.  I  answered  :  '  A 
child,  maybe,  but  my  father  was  killed  two  hours 
ago.  He  gave  me  his  musket.  Teach  me  how  to 
use  it.' 

"  From  that  moment  I  became  what  I  have  al- 
ways been  for  forty  years,  an  insurgent !  If  I  fought 
during  the  Commune,  it  was  not  because  I  was 
forced,  nor  for  the  thirty  sous ;  it  was  from  taste, 
from  pleasure,  from  habit,  from  routine. 

"  In  1830  I  behaved  rather  bravely  at  the  attack 
on  the  Louvre.  The  urchin  who  first  scaled  the 
gate  beneath  the  bullets  of  the  Swiss  was  I.  I  re- 
ceived the  Medal  of  July.  But  the  shopkeepers 
gave  us  a  king.  It  had  all  to  be  done  over.  I 
joined  a  secret  society ;  I  learned  to  melt  bullets, 
to  make  powder — in  short,  I  completed  my  educa- 
tion, and  I  waited. 

"  I  had  to  wait  nearly  two  years.  On  June  5, 
1832,  at  noon,  in  front  of  the  Madeleine,  I  was  the 
first  to  unharness  one  of  the  horses  of  the  hearse 
of  General  Lamarque.  I  passed  the  day  in  shout- 
ing, '  Long  live  Lafayette !'  and  I  passed  the  night 
in  making  barricades.  The  next  morning  we  were 


THE   INSURGENT  139 

attacked  by  the  regulars.  In  the  evening,  towards 
four  o'clock,  we  were  blocked,  cannonaded,  swept 
with  grape-shot,  and  crushed  back  into  the  Church 
of  Saint-Mery.  I  had  a  bullet  and  three  bayonet- 
stabs  in  my  body  when  I  was  picked  up  by  the  sol- 
diers from  the  stone  floor  of  a  little  chapel  to  the 
left — the  Chapel  of  St.  John.  I  have  often  gone 
back  to  that  little  chapel — not  to  pray,  I  wasn't 
brought  up  with  such  ideas — but  to  see  the  stains 
of  my  blood  which  still  remain  on  the  stones. 

"  On  account  of  my  youth  I  received  a  ten-year 
sentence.  I  was  sent  to  Mont  Saint-Michel.  That 
was  why  I  didn't  take  part  in  the  riots  of  1834. 
If  I  had  been  free  I  should  have  fought  in  Rue 
Transnonian  as  I  had  fought  in  Rue  Saint-Mery — 
'  against  the  Government — always,  always,  always !' 
It  was  my  father's  last  word ;  it  was  my  gospel,  my 
religion.  I  call  that  my  catechism  in  six  words.  I 
came  out  of  prison  in  1842,  and  I  again  began  to 
wait. 

"  The  revolution  of  '48  was  made  without  effort. 
The  shopkeepers  were  stupid  and  cowardly.  They 
were  neither  for  nor  against  us.  The  municipal 
guards  alone  defended  themselves.  We  had  a  little 
trouble  in  taking  the  guard-house  of  the  Chateau 
d'Eau.  On  the  evening  of  February  24th  I  remained 
three  or  four  hours  on  the  square  before  the  Hotel 


140  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

de  Ville.  The  members  of  the  Provisional  Govern- 
ment, one  after  another,  made  speeches  to  us — said 
that  we  were  heroes,  great  citizens,  the  foremost  na- 
tion in  the  world,  that  we  had  broken  the  bonds  of 
tyranny.  After  having  fed  us  on  these  fine  speeches, 
they  gave  us  a  republic  which  wasn't  any  better 
than  the  monarchy  we  had  overthrown. 

"  In  June  I  took  up  my  musket  again,  but  on  that 
occasion  we  were  not  successful.  I  was  arrested, 
sentenced,  and  sent  to  Cayenne.  It  seems  that  I 
behaved  well  there.  One  day  I  saved  a  captain 
of  marines  from  drowning.  Observe  that  I  should 
most  certainly  have  shot  at  that  captain  if  he  had 
been  on  one  side  of  a  barricade  and  I  on  the  other ; 
but  a  man  who  is  drowning,  dying — in  short,  I  re- 
ceived my  pardon.  I  came  back  to  France  in  1852, 
after  the  Coup  d'Etat ;  I  had  missed  the  insurrec- 
tion of  1851. 

"  At  Cayenne  I  had  made  friends  with  a  tailor 
named  Barnard.  Six  months  after  my  departure 
for  France,  Barnard  died.  I  went  to  see  his  widow. 
She  was  in  want.  I  married  her.  We  had  a  son 
in  1854 — you  will  understand  presently  why  I  speak 
to  you  of  my  wife  and  my  son.  But  you  must  al- 
ready suspect  that  an  insurgent  who  marries  the 
widow  of  an  insurgent  does  not  have  royalist  chil- 
dren. 


THE   INSURGENT 


141 


"Under  the  Empire  there  was  nothing  to  do. 
The  police  were  very  strict.  We  were  dispersed, 
disarmed.  I  worked,  I  brought  up  my  son  with 
the  ideas  that  my  father  had  given  me.  The  wait 
was  long.  Rochefort,  Gambetta,  public  reunions — 
all  that  put  us  in  motion  again. 

"  On  the  first  important  occasion  I  showed  my- 
self. I  was  one  of  that  little  band  who  assaulted 
the  barracks  of  the  firemen  of  Villette.  Only  there 
we  made  a  mistake.  We  killed  a  fireman,  unnec- 
essarily. I  was  caught  and  thrown  into  prison, 
but  the  Government  of  the  Fourth  of  September 
liberated  us,  from  which  I  concluded  that  we  did 
right  to  attack  those  barracks  and  kill  the  fireman, 
even  unnecessarily. 

"  The  siege  began.  I  immediately  opposed  the 
Government,  on  the  side  of  the  Commune.  I 
marched  against  the  Hotel  de  Ville  on  the  3ist  of 
October  and  on  the  22d  of  January.  I  liked  revolt 
for  revolt's  sake.  An  insurgent — I  told  you  in  the 
beginning  I  am  an  insurgent.  I  cannot  hear  a  dis- 
cussion without  taking  part,  nor  see  a  riot  without 
running  to  it,  nor  a  barricade  without  bringing  my 
paving-stone.  It's  in  the  blood. 

"  And  then,  besides,  I  wasn't  quite  ignorant,  and 
I  said  to  myself,  '  It  is  only  necessary  to  succeed 
thoroughly  some  day,  and  then,  in  our  turn,  we 


142  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

shall  be  the  Government,  and  it  will  be  better  than 
with  all  these  lawyers,  who  place  themselves  be- 
hind us  during  the  battle,  and  pass  ahead  after  the 
victory.' 

"The  i8th  of  March  came,  and  naturally  I  was 
in  it.  I  shouted  '  Hurrah  for  the  regulars !'  I  fra- 
ternized with  the  army.  I  went  to  the  Hotel  de 
Ville.  I  found  a  government  already  at  work.  It  was 
absolutely  the  same  as  on  the  24th  of  February. 

"  Now  you  tell  me  that  that  insurrection  was  not 
lawful.  That  is  possible,  but  I  don't  quite  see  why 
not.  I  begin  to  get  muddled — about  these  insur- 
rections which  are  a  duty  and  those  which  are  a 
crime !  I  do  not -clearly  see  the  difference. 

"  I  shot  at  the  Versailles  troops  in  1871,  as  I  had 
shot  at  the  royal  guard  in  1830  and  on  the  munici- 
pals in  1848.  After  1830  I  received  the  Medal  of 
July;  after  1848  the  compliments  of  M.  de  Lamar- 
tine.  This  time  I  am  going  to  get  transportation 
or  death. 

"  There  are  insurrections  which  please  you.  You 
raise  columns  to  them,  you  give  their  names  to 
streets,  you  give  yourselves  the  offices,  the  promo- 
tions, and  the  big  salaries  -,  and  we  folks,  who  made 
the  revolution,  you  call  us  great  citizens,  heroes,  a 
nation  of  brave  men,  etc.  That's  the  coin  we  are 
paid  with. 


THE    INSURGENT  143 

"  And  then  there  are  other  insurrections  which 
displease  you.  As  a  result,  transportation,  death. 
Well,  you  see,  if  you  hadn't  complimented  us  so 
after  the  first  ones,  perhaps  we  wouldn't  have  made 
the  last.  If  you  hadn't  raised  the  Column  of  July 
at  the  entrance  of  our  neighborhood,  we  wouldn't 
perhaps  have  gone  and  demolished  the  Vendome 
Column  in  your  neighborhood.  Those  two  penny 
trumpets  didn't  agree.  One  had  to  upset  the  other, 
and  that  is  what  happened. 

"  Now,  why  I  threw  away  my  captain's  uniform 
on  the  26th  of  May,  why  I  was  in  a  blouse  when  I 
was  arrested,  I  will  tell  you.  When  I  learned  that 
the  gentlemen  of  the  Commune,  instead  of  coming 
to  shoot  with  us  behind  the  barricades,  were  at 
the  Hotel  de  Ville  distributing  among  themselves 
thousand -franc  notes,  were  shaving  their  beards, 
dyeing  their  hair,  and  hiding  themselves  in  caves, 
I  did  not  wish  to  keep  the  shoulder-straps  they  had 
given  me. 

"  Besides,  shoulder-straps  embarrassed  me.  '  Cap- 
tain Martin '  sounded  idiotic.  '  Insurgent  Martin  ' 
— why,  that's  well  and  good.  I  wanted  to  end  as 
I  had  begun,  die  as  my  father  had  died,  as  a  rioter 
in  a  riot,  as  a  barricader  behind  a  barricade. 

"  I  could  not  get  killed.  I  got  caught.  I  belong 
to  you.  But  I  wish  to  beg  a  favor  of  you.  I  have 


144  PARISIAN   POINTS    OF   VIEW 

a  son,  a  child  of  seventeen ;  he  is  at  Cherbourg,  on 
the  hulks.  He  fought,  it  is  true,  and  he  does  not 
deny  it ;  but  it  is  I  who  put  a  musket  in  his  hand, 
it  is  I  who  told  him  that  his  duty  was  there.  He 
listened  to  me.  He  obeyed  me.  That  is  all  his 
crime.  Do  not  sentence  him  too  harshly. 

"  As  for  me,  you  have  got  me ;  do  not  let  me  go, 
that's  the  advice  I  give  you.  I  am  too  old  to  mend ; 
and  then,  what  can  you  expect?  Nothing  can 
change  it.  I  was  born  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
barricade." 


THE   CHINESE  AMBASSADOR 


THE  CHINESE  AMBASSADOR 

IN  the  beginning  of  the  year  1870  some  Eng- 
lish and  French  residents  had  been  massacred  in 
China.  Reparation  was  demanded.  His  Excel- 
lency Tchong-Keon,  Tutor  of  the  Heir-apparent  and 
Vice  -  President  of  the  War  Department,  was  sent 
to  Europe  as  Ambassador  Extraordinary  to  the  Eng- 
lish and  French  governments. 

Tchong-Keon  has  recently  published  at  Pekin  a 
very  curious  account  of  his  voyage.  One  of  my 
friends  who  lives  in  Shanghai,  and  who  possesses 
the  rare  talent  of  being  able  to  read  Chinese  easily, 
sent  me  this  faithful  translation  of  a  part  of  Tchong- 
Keon's  book : 

HAVRE,  September  12,  1870. 

I  land,  and  I  make  myself  known.  I  am  the 
Ambassador  of  the  Emperor  of  China.  I  bear 
apologies  to  the  Emperor  of  the  French,  and  pres- 
ents to  the  Empress.  There  is  no  Emperor  and  no 
Empress.  A  Republic  has  been  proclaimed.  I 
am  much  embarrassed.  Shall  I  offer  the  apologies 
and  presents  that  were  intended  for  the  Empire  to 
the  Republic  ? 


148  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

HAVRE,  September  14,  1870. 

After  much  reflection,  I  shall  offer  the  apologies 
and  keep  the  presents. 

HAVRE,  September  26,  1870. 

Yes ;  but  to  whom  shall  I  carry  the  apologies,  and 
to  whom  shall  I  present  them  ?  The  Government 
of  the  French  Republic  is  divided  in  two :  there  is 
one  part  in  Paris  and  one  part  in  Tours.  To  go  to 
Paris  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  Paris  is  besieged 
and  blockaded  by  the  Prussians.  I  shall  go  to 

Tours. 

HAVRE,  Octobers,  1870. 

I  did  not  go,  and  I  shall  not  go,  to  Tours.  I  re- 
ceived yesterday  a  visit  from  the  correspondent 
of  the  Times,  a  most  agreeable  and  sensible  man. 
I  told  him  that  I  intended  going  to  Tours. 

"  To  Tours !     What  do  you  want  in  Tours  ?" 

"To  present  the  apologies  of  my  master  to  the 
Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  of  the  French  Re- 
public." 

"  But  that  minister  isn't  in  Tours." 

"  And  where  is  he  ?" 

"  Blockaded  in  Paris." 

A  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  who  is  blockaded 
in  a  besieged  town  seemed  to  me  most  extraor- 
dinary. 

"And  why,"  the  correspondent  of  the    Times 


THE   CHINESE   AMBASSADOR  149 

asked  me,  "do  you  bring  apologies  to  the  French 
Government  ?" 

"  Because  we  massacred  some  French  residents." 

"  French  residents  !  That's  of  no  importance 
nowadays.  France  no  longer  exists.  You  can,  if 
it  amuses  you,  throw  all  the  French  residents  into 
the  sea." 

"We  also  thoughtlessly  massacred  some  Eng- 
lish residents." 

"  You  massacred  some  English  residents  !  Oh, 
that's  very  different!  England  is  still  a  great 
nation.  And  you  have  brought  apologies  to  Queen 
Victoria  ?" 

"  Yes,  apologies  and  presents." 

"  Go  to  London,  go  straight  to  London,  and  don't 
bother  about  France ;  there  is  no  France." 

The  correspondent  of  the  Times  looked  quite 
happy  when  he  spoke  those  words :  "  there  is  no 
France." 

LONDON,  October  10,  1870. 

I've  seen  the  Queen  of  England.  She  received 
me  very  cordially.  She  has  accepted  the  apologies ; 
she  has  accepted  the  presents. 

LONDON,  October  12,  1870. 

Had  a  long  conversation  with  Lord  Granville, 
Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  of  the  Queen  of  Eng- 


150  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

land.  I  explained  to  his  Excellency  that  I  meant 
to  go  home  at  once,  and  that  I  feel  I  need  not  pay 
further  attention  to  my  French  embassy,  as  France 
no  longer  exists.  Lord  Granville  answered  me  : 

"  Don't  go  away  so  soon ;  you  will  perhaps  be 
obliged  to  come  back,  and  sooner  than  you  imagine. 
France  is  an  extraordinary  country,  which  picks  up 
very  quickly.  Await  the  end  of  the  war,  and  then 
you  can  take  your  apologies  to  the  Government  that 
France  will  have  decided  on  giving  itself.  Till  then 
remain  in  England.  We  shall  be  most  happy  to  offer 
you  our  hospitality." 

LONDON,  November  3,  1870. 

I  did  not  return  to  China.  I  am  waiting  in  Lon- 
don till  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  is  not  be- 
sieged, and  till  there  is  some  way  of  laying  one's 
hands  on  the  French  Government.  There  are  many 
Parisians  here  who  escaped  from  their  country  on 
account  of  the  war.  I  dined  yesterday  with  his 
Royal  Highness,  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Three  Pari- 
sian women,  all  three  young,  and  all  three  pretty, 
took  possession  of  me  after  dinner.  We  had  a  very 
interesting  conversation  in  English. 

"  You  are  looking  for  the  French  Government, 
the  legitimate  Government  ?"  said  the  first  of  these 
Parisians.  "  Why,  it  is  here  in  England,  half  an  hour 
from  London.  To-morrow  go  to  the  Waterloo  sta- 


THE   CHINESE   AMBASSADOR  151 

tion  and  buy  a  ticket  for  Chiselhurst,  and  there 
you  will  find  Napoleon  III.,  who  is,  and  has  never 
ceased  to  be,  the  Emperor  of  the  French." 

"  Don't  listen  to  her,  Mr.  Ambassador,"  laugh- 
ingly said  the  second  Parisian,  "  don't  listen  to  her ; 
she  is  a  terrible  Bonapartist.  Yes,  the  true  sover- 
eign of  France  is  in  England,  quite  near  London, 
but  not  at  Chiselhurst ;  and  it  is  not  the  Waterloo 
station  you  must  go  to,  but  the  Victoria  station. 
You  mustn't  take  a  ticket  for  Chiselhurst,  but  for 
Twickenham,  and  there  you  will  find  at  Orleans 
House  his  Royal  Highness  the  Count  of  Paris." 

"Don't  listen  to  her,  Mr.  Ambassador,"  exclaimed 
in  turn,  and  also  laughing,  the  third  Parisian,  "don't 
listen  to  her ;  she  is  a  terrible  revolutionist !  The 
Count  of  Paris  is  not  the  heir  to  the  throne  of 
France.  To  find  the  legitimate  King  you  must  go 
a  little  farther  than  Chiselhurst  or  Twickenham ; 
you  must  go  to  Austria,  to  the  Frohsdorf  Palace. 
The  King  of  France  —  he  is  the  descendant  of 
Henry  IV. — is  the  Count  of  Chambord." 

If  I  count  aright,  that  makes  three  legitimate 
sovereigns,  and  all  three  deposed.  Never  in  China 
have  we  had  anything  of  that  sort.  Our  old  dy- 
nasty has  had  to  fight  against  the  invasions  of  the 
Mongols  and  against  the  insurrections  of  the  Tai- 
pings.  But  three  legitimate  sovereigns  for  the  same 


152  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF    VIEW 

country,  for  a  single  throne !     One  has  to  come  to 
Europe  to  see  such  things. 

However,  the  three  Parisians  gayly  discussed  the 
matter,  and  seemed  to  be  the  best  friends  in  the 
world. 

LONDON,  November  15,  1870. 

As  a  sequel  to  the  three  Frenchwomen,  repre- 
senting three  different  monarchs,  I  met,  this  even- 
ing, at  Lord  Granville's,  three  Frenchmen  repre- 
senting three  different  republics. 

The  first  asked  me  why  I  didn't  go  to  Tours. 

"  You  will  find  there,"  he  said  to  me,  "  the  au- 
thorized representatives  of  the  French  Republic, 
and  in  addressing  yourself  to  M.  Gambetta  you 
are  addressing  France — " 

"  Don't  do  that,  Mr.  Ambassador !"  exclaimed  the 
second  Frenchman ;  "  the  real  Government  of  the 
real  French  Republic  is  shut  up  in  Paris.  M.  Jules 
Favre  alone  can  officially  receive  your  visit  and 
your  apologies." 

"  The  Republic  of  Paris  isn't  worth  more  than 
the  Republic  of  Tours,"  the  third  Frenchman  then 
told  me.  "  If  we  have  a  Republic  in  France,  it  will 
be  neither  the  Republic  of  M.  Gambetta  nor  the 
Republic  of  M.  Jules  Favre." 

"  And  whose  Republic  then  ?" 

"  The  Republic  of  M.  Thiers— " 


THE  CHINESE  AMBASSADOR  153 

Whereupon  the  three  Frenchmen  began  to  dispute 
in  earnest.  They  were  very  red,  shouted  loudly,  and 
made  violent  gestures.  The  discussion  about  the 
three  monarchies  had  been  much  gentler  and  much 
more  agreeable  than  the  discussion  about  the  three 
republics. 

During  the  evening  these  Frenchmen  managed  to 
slip  into  my  ear,  in  turn,  two  or  three  little  phrases 
of  this  kind : 

"  Don't  listen,"  the  first  one  said  to  me,  "  to  that 
partisan  of  the  Government  of  Paris ;  he  is  a  law- 
yer who  has  come  here  with  a  commission  from 
M.  Jules  Favre.  So  you  see  he  has  a  big  salary, 
and  as  he  wishes  to  keep  it — " 

"Don't  listen,"  the  second  one  said  to  me,  "to 
that  partisan  of  the  alleged  Republic  of  M.  Thiers ; 
he  is  only  a  monarchist,  a  disguised  Orleanist — " 

"Don't  listen,"  the  third  one  said  to  me,  "to 
that  partisan  of  the  Republic  of  Tours ;  he  is  a  gen- 
tleman who  has  come  to  England  to  get  a  loan  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Government  of  Tours ;  so,  as  he 
expects  to  get  a  lot  of  money — " 

Thus  I  am,  if  I  reckon  correctly,  face  to  face  with 
six  governments — three  monarchies  and  three  re- 
publics. 

LONDON,  December  6,  1870. 

I  think  that  his  Excellency,  M.  de  Bernstoff, 


154  PARISIAN   POINTS  OF  VIEW 

Prussian  Ambassador  to  England,  takes  pleasure 
in  making  fun  of  me.  I  never  meet  him  but  that 
he  announces  to  me  that  Paris  will  capitulate  the 
next  day.  The  next  day  arrives  and  Paris  does  not 
capitulate.  However,  this  evening  his  Excellency 
looked  so  perfectly  sure  of  what  he  was  saying  that 
I  think  I  can  prepare  to  start  for  Paris. 

PARIS,  February  2O,  1871. 

I  only  left  on  the  loth  of  February.  At  last  I  am 
in  Paris.  I  travelled  slowly,  by  short  stages.  What 
a  lot  of  burned  villages!  What  a  lot  of  sacked 
houses  !  What  a  lot  of  devastated  forests,  dug-up 
woods,  and  bridges  and  railroads  destroyed !  And 
these  Europeans  treat  us  as  barbarians  ! 

However,  among  all  these  ruins  there  is  one  the 
sight  of  which  filled  me  with  the  keenest  joy.  The 
palace  of  Saint-Cloud  was  the  summer  palace  of  the 
Emperor  Napoleon,  and  not  a  stone  upon  a  stone 
remains.  I  contemplated  curiously,  eagerly,  and  for 
a  long  time  the  blackened  ruins  of  this  palace. 
Pieces  of  old  Chinese  vases  were  hidden  in  the 
heaps  of  rubbish  among  the  wreck  of  marble  and 
fragments  of  shell. 

Where  did  those  old  Chinese  vases  come  from  ? 
Perhaps  from  the  summer  palace  of  our  Emperor, 
from  that  palace  which  was  devastated,  burned, 


THE  CHINESE  AMBASSADOR  155 

and  destroyed  by  those  English  and  French  sol- 
diers who  came  to  bring  us  civilization. 

I  was  extremely  well  received  by  the  English, 
who  overwhelmed  me  with  invitations  and  kind- 
nesses ;  but  none  the  less  I  hope  that  the  palaces  of 
Buckingham  and  Windsor  will  also  have  their  turn. 

PARIS,  February  25,  1871. 

I  have  written  to  M.  Jules  Favre  to  let  him 
know  that  I  have  been  waiting  six  months  for 
the  opportunity  of  presenting  to  him  the  compli- 
ments and  apologies  of  the  Emperor  of  China. 
M.  Jules  Favre  answered  me  that  he  is  obliged 
to  start  for  Bordeaux.  I  shall  have  an  audience  in 
the  beginning  of  March. 

PARIS,  March  7,  1871. 

Another  letter  from  M.  Jules  Favre.  He  is  ex- 
pected at  Frankfort  by  M.  de  Bismarck.  My  au- 
dience is  again  put  off. 

PARIS,  March  17,  1871. 

At  last,  to-morrow,  March  i8th,  at  four  o'clock, 
I  am  to  be  received  by  M.  Jules  Favre  at  the  Min- 
istry of  Foreign  Affairs. 

PARIS,  March  18,  1871. 

We  dressed  ourselves,  I  and  my  two  secretaries, 
in  our  official  costumes,  and  departed  at  three 
o'clock,  accompanied  by  an  interpreter.  We  ar- 


156  PARISIAN   POINTS    OF   VIEW 

rived.  The  court  of  the  house  was  filled  with  peo- 
ple who  appeared  busy  and  hurried,  and  who  came 
and  went,  carrying  cases  and  packages.  The  in- 
terpreter, after  having  exchanged  several  words 
with  an  employee  of  the  ministry,  said  to  me : 

"  Something  serious  has  happened — an  insurrec- 
tion. The  Government  is  again  obliged  to  change 
its  capital !" 

At  that  moment  a  door  opened,  and  M.  Jules 
Favre  himself  appeared  with  a  large  portfolio  un- 
der his  arm.  He  explained  to  the  interpreter  that 
I  should  have  my  audience  at  Versailles  in  several 
days,  and  having  made  me  a  profound  bow,  which 
I  returned  him,  he  ran  away  with  his  large  portfolio. 

VERSAILLES,  March  19,  1871. 

I  had  to  leave  Paris  at  twelve  o'clock  in  a  great 
hurry.  There  really  is  a  new  Government  at  Paris. 
This  Government  is  not  one  of  the  three  monar- 
chies, nor  one  of  the  three  republics.  It  is  a  sev- 
enth arrangement,  which  is  called  the  Commune. 
This-  morning  an  armed  troop  of  men  surrounded 
the  house  where  I  live.  It  seems  that  the  new 
Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs  of  Paris  of  the  Com- 
mune would  have  been  charmed  to  receive  a  Chi- 
nese ambassador.  They  had  come  to  carry  me  off. 
I  had  time  to  escape.  It  is  not  the  Minister  of 


THE   CHINESE   AMBASSADOR  157 

Foreign  Affairs  in  Paris  that  I  ought  to  see,  it  is  the 
Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  in  Versailles. 

Good  heavens,  how  complicated  it  all  is !  And 
when  shall  I  be  able  to  put  my  hand  on  this  in- 
tangible person,  who  is  now  blockaded  in  Paris 
and  now  chased  out  of  Paris  ? 

VERSAILLES,  April  d,  1871. 

At  last,  yesterday,  I  had  the  honor  of  being  re- 
ceived by  his  Excellency,  and  we  discussed  the 
events  that  had  occurred  in  Paris. 

"This  insurrection,"  M.  Jules  Favre  said  to  me, 
"is  the  most  formidable  and  the  most  extraordi- 
nary that  has  ever  broken  out." 

I  could  not  allow  such  a  great  historical  error  to 
pass.  I  answered  M.  Jules  Favre  that  we  had 
had  in  China  for  millions  of  years  socialists  and 
socialistic  uprisings ;  that  the  French  Communists 
were  but  rough  imitators  of  our  Chinese  Taipings ; 
that  we  had  had  in  1230  a  siege  at  Nankin  which 
had  lasted  seven  years,  etc.  In  short,  these  Euro- 
peans are  only  beginning  again  our  history  with 
less  grandeur  and  more  barbarity. 

VERSAILLES,  May  15,  1871. 

My  mission  is  ended ;  I  could  return  to  China ; 
but  all  that  I  see  here  interests  me  extremely. 


158  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

This  civil  war  immediately  succeeding  a  foreign 
war  is  a  very  curious  occurrence.  There  is  here, 
for  a  Chinaman,  an  excellent  opportunity  of  study, 
on  the  spot  and  from  life,  of  European  civiliza- 
tion. 

VERSAILLES,  May  24,  1871. 

Paris  is  burning,  and  on  the  terrace  of  the  palace 
of  Saint-Cloud,  in  the  midst  of  the  ruins  of  that 
palace,  I  passed  my  day  looking  at  Paris  burn.  It 
is  a  dead,  destroyed,  and  annihilated  city. 

PARIS,  June  10,  1871. 

Not  at  all.  It  is  still  the  most  beautiful  city  in 
Europe,  and  the  most  brilliant,  and  the  most  gay. 
I  shall  spend  some  time  in  Paris. 

PARIS,  June  29,  1871. 

Yesterday  M.  Thiers,  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
held  a  review  of  a  hundred  thousand  men.  Will 
there  always  be  a  France  ? 


IN   THE   EXPRESS 


IN   THE   EXPRESS 

"WHEN  one  bears  the  name  of  Luynes  or  La 
Tremoille,  I  can  readily  understand  the  desire  to 
continue  the  Luynes  or  the  La  Tremoilles ;  but 
really  when  one  is  named  Chamblard,  what  possi- 
ble object  can  there  be  in —  Eh  ?  Answer." 

In  this  fashion  young  Raoul  Chamblard  talked 
while  comfortably  settled  back  in  a  large  red  velvet 
arm-chair.  This  happened  on  the  26th  of  March, 
1892,  in  one  of  the  parlor-cars  of  the  express  to 
Marseilles,  which  had  left  Paris  at  8.50  that  morn- 
ing. It  was  now  five  minutes  past  nine.  The  train 
with  much  racket  was  crossing  the  bridge  of  Cha- 
rentin.  Young  Chamblard  was  talking  to  his  friend, 
Maurice  Revoille,  who,  after  a  six  weeks'  leave,  was 
going  to  join  his  regiment  in  Algeria. 

The  lieutenant  of  light  cavalry  responded  to  his 
friend's  question  with  a  vague  gesture.  Raoul 
Chamblard  continued: 

"However,  it's  my  father's  fixed  idea.  There 
must  be  Chamblards  after  me.  And  as  papa  has 
but  one  son,  it's  to  me  he  looks  to  do  what  is  nec- 
essary." 


162  PARISIAN   POINTS  OF  VIEW 

"  Well,  do  what  is  necessary." 

"  But  I  am  only  twenty-four,  my  dear  fellow,  and 
to  marry  at  twenty-four  is  hard.  It  seems  to  me 
that  I'm  still  entitled  to  a  little  more  fun,  and  even 
a  good  deal." 

"  Well,  have  your  fun." 

"  That's  just  what  I've  done  up  to  now.  I  have 
had  a  first-rate  time !  But  I've  taste  only  for  ex- 
pensive amusements.  I  don't  know  how  to  enjoy 
myself  without  money,  and  I  haven't  a  cent.  Do 
you  understand  ?  Not  a  cent !" 

"  You  ?    You  are  very  rich." 

"  A  great  mistake  !  Upon  coming  of  age,  three 
years  ago,  I  spent  what  was  left  me  by  my  mother. 
Mother  wasn't  very  rich ;  she  was  worth  six  hun- 
dred thousand  francs,  not  more.  Papa  made  al- 
most a  love-match.  The  six  hundred  thousand 
francs  vanished  in  three  years,  and  could  I  decent- 
ly do  anything  else  as  the  son  of  my  father  ?  He 
is  powerfully  rich !" 

"  That's  what's  said." 

"And  it's  very  true.  He  has  a  dozen  millions 
which  are  quite  his  own,  and  can't  be  hurt  by  an 
accident;  and  his  bank  still  goes  on,  and  brings 
him  in,  one  year  with  another,  besides  the  interest 
on  his  dozen  millions,  three  or  four  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  more.  Nothing  is  more  solid  than  the 


IN   THE   EXPRESS  163 

Chamblard  bank ;  it's  honest,  it's  venerable.  Papa 
isn't  fair  to  me,  but  I'm  fair  to  him.  When  you 
have  a  father  in  business,  it's  a  good  thing  when 
you  go  out  not  to  be  exposed  to  meet  eyes  which 
seem  to  say  to  you,  '  My  dear  fellow,  your  father 
has  swindled  me.'  Papa  has  but  one  passion  : 
from  five  to  seven  every  day  he  plays  piquet  at 
his  club,  at  ten  sous  a  point,  and  as  he  is  an  excel- 
lent player,  he  wins  seven  times  out  of  ten.  He 
keeps  an  account  of  his  games  with  the  same  scru- 
pulous exactitude  he  has  in  all  things,  and  he  was 
telling  the  day  before  yesterday  that  piquet  this 
year  had  brought  him  in  six  thousand  five  hundred 
francs  over  and  above  the  cost  of  the  cards.  He 
has  a  seat  in  the  orchestra  at  the  opera,  not  for 
the  ballet,  but  for  the  music  only ;  he  never  goes 
on  the  stage — neither  do  I,  for  that  matter.  Dan- 
cers don't  attract  me  at  all;  they  live  in  Batig- 
nolles,  in  Montmartre ;  they  always  walk  with 
their  mothers;  they  completely  lack  charm.  In 
short,  my  father  is  what  one  calls  a  good  man. 
You  see  I  continue  to  be  fair  to  him.  Besides,  I'm 
always  right.  Yes,  it's  a  very  good  thing  to  have 
an  honorable  father,  and  Papa  Chamblard  is  a  mod- 
el of  all  virtues,  and  he  accumulates  for  me  with  a 
zeal !  but  I  think,  just  at  present,  he  accumulates 
a  little  too  much.  He  has  cut  off  my  income.  No 


164  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

marriage,  no  money.  That's  brief  and  decisive. 
That's  his  programme.  And  he  has  hunted  up 
a  wife  for  me — when  I  say  one,  I  should  say  three." 

"  Three  wives !" 

"  Yes.  One  morning  he  came  to  me  and  said : 
'  This  must  end.  Look,  here's  a  list — three  splen- 
did matches.'  There  were  the  names,  the  rela- 
tions, the  dowries  —  it  was  even  arranged  in  the 
order  of  the  dowries.  I  had  to  yield  and  consent 
to  an  interview  with  Number  One.  That  took  place 
at  the  Salon  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  Ah,  my  boy, 
Number  One  —  dry,  flat,  bony,  sallow !" 

"  Then  why  did  your  father — " 

"Why  ?  Because  she  was  the  daughter,  and  only 
daughter,  of  a  wealthy  manufacturer  from  Roubaix. 
It  was  splendid  !  We  each  started  with  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  income,  and  that  was  to  be,  in  the 
course  of  time,  after  realized  expectations,  a  shower 
of  millions !  It  made  papa  supremely  happy  — 
the  thought  that  all  his  millions  in  Paris  would  one 
day  make  an  enormous  heap  with  all  those  Rou- 
baix millions.  Millions  don't  frighten  me,  but  on 
the  condition  that  they  surround  a  pretty,  a  very 
pretty  and  stylish  woman  —  a  great  deal  of  style  ! 
That's  my  programme.  I  want  to  be  able  to  take 
my  wife  to  the  theatres  without  having  to  blush 
before  the  box-openers." 


IN   THE    EXPRESS  165 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Before  the  box-openers  ?" 
"Why,  certainly.  I  am  known,  and  I've  a  repu- 
tation to  keep  up.  You  see,  the  openers  are  al- 
ways the  same  —  always  -,  and  of  course  they  know 
me.  They've  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing  me,  dur- 
ing the  last  three  or  four  years,  come  with  the  best- 
known  and  best-dressed  women  in  Paris.  Which 
is  to  say,  that  I  should  never  dare  present  myself  be- 
fore them  with  that  creature  from  Roubaix.  They 
would  think  I  had  married  for  money.  I  tried  to 
explain  that  delicately  to  papa,  but  one  can't  make 
him  hear  reason.  There  are  things  which  he  doesn't 
understand,  which  he  can't  understand.  I  have  no 
grudge  against  him ;  he's  of  his  time,  I'm  of  mine. 
In  short,  I  declared  resolutely  that  I  would  never 
marry  Number  One.  Notice  that  I  discoursed  most 
sensibly  with  papa.  I  said  to  him :  '  You  want  me 
to  have  a  home'  (home  is  his  word),  'but  when  I 
should  have  placed  in  that  home  a  fright  such  as 
to  scare  the  sparrows,  my  home  would  be  a  horror 
to  me,  and  I  should  be  forced,  absolutely  forced, 
to  arrange  a  home  outside.  Thus  I  should  have  a 
household  at  home  and  a  household  outside,  and 
it's  then  that  the  money  would  fly!'  But  papa 
won't  listen  to  anything !  He  doesn't  understand 
that  I  must  have  a  little  wife  who  is  pretty,  Pari- 
sian pretty — that  is  to  say,  original,  gay,  jolly,  who 


166  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

is  looked  at  on  the  street,  and  stared  at  through 
opera-glasses  at  the  theatre,  who  will  do  me  honor, 
and  who  will  set  me  off  well.  I  must  be  able  to 
continue  my  bachelor  life  with  her,  and  as  long  as 
possible.  And  then  there's  another  thing  that  I 
can't  tell  papa.  His  name  is  Chamblard — it  isn't 
his  fault ;  only,  in  consequence,  I  too  am  named 
Chamblard,  and  it's  not  very  agreeable,  with  a  name 
like  that,  to  try  to  get  on  in  society.  And  a  pretty, 
a  very  pretty,  woman  is  the  best  passport.  There, 
look  at  Robineau.  He  has  just  been  received  into 
the  little  club  of  the  Rue  Royale.  And  why  ?  It's 
not  the  Union  or  the  Jockey ;  but  never  mind,  one 
doesn't  get  in  there  as  into  a  hotel.  And  why  was 
Robineau  received  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  It's  because  he  has  married  a  charming  woman, 
and  this  charming  woman  is  a  skater  of  the  first 
rank.  She  had  a  tremendous  success  on  the  ice 
at  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  In  the  society  columns 
of  all  the  papers  there  was  mention  of  the  exqui- 
site, delightful,  and  ideal  Mme.  Robineau.  She  was 
in  the  swim  at  one  stroke.  And  Robineau,  he  too 
was  in  the  swim.  He  was  a  member  of  the  little 
club  six  weeks  later !  Papa,  he  doesn't  understand 
the  importance  of  these  things;  one  can't  reason 
with  him  about  it ;  it's  all  Greek  to  him.  However, 


IN   THE   EXPRESS  167 

as  he  had  absolutely  cut  off  my  supplies,  I  had  to 
submit,  and  consent  to  an  interview  with  Number 
Two." 

"  And  what  was  Number  Two  like  ?" 
"  Ah,  my  dear  fellow,  what  was  she  like  !  She 
was  the  daughter  of  a  rich  merchant  of  Antwerp. 
A  Belgian  article  !  First  a  provincial,  and  then  a 
foreigner !  Papa  doesn't  like  Parisians.  Mamma 
was  from  Chatellerault,  and  she  was  indeed  a  saint. 
Number  Two  happened  to  be  in  Paris ;  so  last  night, 
at  the  Opera  Comique,  they  showed  me  a  Fleming, 
who  was  very  blond,  very  insipid,  very  masculine — 
a  Rubens,  a  true  Rubens;  a  giantess,  a  colossal 
woman,  a  head  taller  than  I,  which  is  to  say  that 
materially  one  could  not  take  her  in  a  lower  stage- 
box,  and  those  are  the  only  boxes  I  like.  On  leav- 
ing the  theatre  I  told  papa  that  I  wouldn't  have 
Number  Two  any  more  than  Number  One,  and  that 
I  had  had  enough,  and  that  I  wouldn't  see  Number 
Three.  The  discussion  was  heated.  Papa  went  off 
banging  doors  and  repeating,  'No  more  money!' 
I  saw  that  it  was  serious.  I  went  to  bed,  but  I 
couldn't  sleep —  I  thought ;  but  I  could  think  of 
nothing  to  save  me  from  the  fat  hands  of  the  Ant- 
werp girl.  Suddenly,  towards  three  in  the  morning, 
I  had  an  inspiration  — I  had  an  idea  that  I  can  call, 
if  you'll  permit  it,  a  stroke  of  genius." 


168  PARISIAN   POINTS    OF   VIEW 

"  I'll  permit  it." 

"  Yes,  genius.  I  knew  that  you  left  to-day  for 
Marseilles,  and  this  morning  I  departed,  English 
fashion,  without  explanation,  and  in  a  little  while, 
at  the  first  stop,  at  Laroche — I  have  looked  at  the 
time-table,  I  have  thought  of  everything — I  shall 
send  the  following  despatch  to  my  father,"  and  Ra- 
oul  triumphantly  pulled  a  paper  out  of  his  pocket. 
"  It's  all  ready.  Listen.  « M.  Chamblard,  8  Rue 
Rougemont,  Paris.  Laroche  station.  I  left  on  the 
express  for  Marseilles  with  Maurice.  I  am  going  to 
make  a  voyage  around  the  world.  I  sha'n't  be  more 
than  six  months.  I  have  engaged  by  telegraph  a 
state  -  room  on  the  Traonaddy,  which  leaves  to- 
morrow for  Singapore.  Anything  rather  than  a 
Flemish  alliance !  Farewell.  With  regrets  for  leav- 
ing you,  your  affectionate  son,  Raoul  Chamblard.' 
My  telegram's  all  right,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  It  isn't  bad,  but  do  you  seriously  mean — " 

"  Yes,  I  shall  go  if,  before  I  reach  Marseilles,  I 
haven't  an  answer  from  papa ;  but  I  shall  have  one, 
for  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  Papa  Cham- 
blard knows  how  to  reason,  and  he  will  say  to  him- 
self :  '  What  shall  I  gain  by  it  ?  Instead  of  fooling 
round  with  little  white  women  in  Paris,  he  will  fool 
round  with  little  yellow  ones  at  Singapore.'  And 
then  another  reason,  the  best  one,  is  that  Papa 


IN   THE   EXPRESS  169 

Chamblard  adores  me,  and  he  can't  do  without 
me,  and  the  little  sentimental  phrase  at  the  end  of 
my  despatch  will  appeal  to  his  heart.  You'll  see 
how  it  will  turn  out.  At  11.20  my  telegram  will 
leave  Laroche ;  papa  will  receive  it  at  half -past 
twelve.  And  I'll  bet  you  ten  louis  that  at  Dijon  or 
Macon  I'll  find  in  the  wire  screen  of  the  station  a 
telegram  addressed  to  me,  and  worded  thus :  '  Re- 
turn; no  longer  question  of  Antwerp  marriage.' 
Papa's  telegram  will  be  brief,  because  he  is  saving 
and  suppresses  unnecessary  words.  Will  you  take 
the  bet  ?" 

"  No,  I  should  lose." 

"  I  think  so.     Have  you  the  papers  ?" 

"  Yes." 

They  read  three  or  four  papers,  Parisian  papers, 
and  read  them  like  true  Parisians.  It  took  a  short 
fifteen  minutes.  While  reading  they  exchanged 
short  remarks  about  the  new  ministry,  the  races 
at  Auteuil,  and  Yvette  Guilbert — particularly  about 
Yvette  Guilbert.  Young  Chamblard  had  been  to 
hear  her  the  day  before,  and  he  hummed  the  re- 
frain : 

"  Un  fiacre  allait  trottinant 

Cahin-caha 
Hu  dia  !     Hop  14  ! 
Un  fiacre  allait  trottinant 
Jaune  avec  un  cocher  blanc." 


170  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

And  as  the  light  cavalryman  had  never  heard 
Yvette  Guilbert  sing  the  "Fiacre,"  young  Cham- 
blard  threw  up  his  arms  and  exclaimed :  "  You  never 
heard  the  'Fiacre,'  and  you  had  three  months' 
leave !  What  did  you  do  in  Paris  ?  /  know  the 
'  Fiacre '  by  heart." 

Upon  which  Raoul  began  to  hum  again,  and 
while  humming  in  a  voice  which  became  more  and 
more  slow,  and  more  and  more  feeble,  he  settled 
back  into  his  arm-chair,  and  soon  fell  into  a  peace- 
ful slumber,  like  the  big  baby  that  he  was. 

All  at  once  he  was  waked  up  with  a  start  by  the 
stopping  of  the  train,  and  by  the  voice  of  the  con- 
ductor, who  cried,  "  Ouah  !  Ouah  !  Ouah  !"  The 
cry  is  the  same  for  all  stations.  This  time  it  was 
meant  for  Laroche.  And  now  for  the  telegram. 
Young  Chamblard  ran  to  the  telegraph  -  office. 
The  immovable  operator  counted  the  sixty -seven 
words  of  that  queer  despatch.  "All  aboard,  all 
aboard !" 

Young  Chamblard  had  scarcely  time  to  jump  on 
the  step  of  his  car. 

"  Ouf !  that's  done,"  he  said  to  the  cavalryman. 
"  Suppose  we  lunch." 

So  they  both  started  on  their  way  to  the  dining- 
car.  It  was  quite  a  journey,  for  two  parlor-cars 
separated  them  from  the  restaurant-car,  and  those 


IN   THE   EXPRESS  171 

two  cars  were  crowded.  It  was  the  season  for  the 
great  pilgrimage  of  a  few  Parisians  and  a  good 
many  English  towards  Nice,  Cannes,  and  Monte 
Carlo.  The  express  was  running  very  fast,  and  was 
pitching  violently.  One  needed  sea-legs.  Then  a 
furious  wind  beat  against  the  train,  and  wrapped  it 
in  clouds  of  dust,  making  the  crossing  of  the  plat- 
forms particularly  disagreeable. 

They  advanced,  walking  with  difficulty  through 
the  first  car,  over  the  first  crossing,  and  encountering 
the  first  squall,  then  through  the  second  car ;  but 
Chamblard,  who  went  ahead,  had  difficulty  in  open- 
ing the  door  to  the  second  platform.  It  resisted 
on  account  of  the  force  of  the  wind ;  finally  it  yield- 
ed, and  Raoul  received  at  the  same  time  in  his 
eyes  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  in  his  arms  a  young 
blonde,  who  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  excuse  me !"  while 
he,  too,  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  excuse  me !"  and  at  the 
same  time  he  received  the  cavalryman  on  his  back, 
who,  also  blinded  by  the  dust,  was  saying,  "  Go  on, 
Raoul,  go  on." 

The  two  doors  of  the  cars  had.  shut,  and  they 
were  all  three  crowded  in  the  little  passage  in  the 
wind — young  Raoul,  young  Maurice,  and  the  young 
blonde. 

The  "  Oh,  excuse  me  "  was  immediately  followed 
by  a  "  M.  Maurice !"  which  was  replied  to  by  a 


172  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

"  Mile.  Martha !"  The  little  blonde  knew  the  cav- 
alryman, and  perceiving  that  she  was  almost  in  the 
arms  of  a  stranger,  Mile.  Martha  disengaged  her- 
self, and  backed  cleverly  towards  the  platform  of 
the  car,  saying  to  Maurice,  "  You're  on  the  train, 
and  you're  going  ?" 

"  To  Algeria." 

"We  to  Marseilles.  I  am  getting  a  shawl  for 
mamma,  who  is  cold.  Mamma  will  be  delighted  to 
see  you.  You  will  find  her  in  the  dining-car.  I'll 
see  you  later." 

"  But  I  will  accompany  you  ?" 

"  If  you  like." 

She  walked  on,  but  not  without  first  having 
slightly  bowed  to  young  Chamblard,  who  had  re- 
mained there  astounded,  contemplating  Mile.  Mar- 
tha with  eyes  filled  with  admiration. 

She  had  time  before  going  to  notice  that  he  was 
a  good-looking  young  fellow,  that  he  wore  a  neat 
little  suit,  and  that  he  looked  at  her  with  staring 
eyes ;  but  in  those  staring  eyes  a  thought  could 
be  clearly  read  that  could  not  displease  her :  "  Oh, 
how  pretty  you  are !" 

Raoul  was,  in  fact,  saying  to  himself :  "  My  type, 
exactly  my  type  !  And  what  style — what  style  in 
the  simplicity  of  that  costume !  And  the  little 
toque,  a  little  on  one  side  over  the  ear — it's  a  mas- 


IN    THE    EXPRESS  173 

terpiece  !  How  well  she  knows  how  to  dress !  What 
an  effect  she  would  make  in  an  audience !  And 
that  little  English  accent !" 

For  she  had  a  little  English  accent ;  she  had  even 
taken  a  good  deal  of  trouble  for  several  years  to 
acquire  that  little  accent.  She  used  to  say  to  her 
governess,  Miss  Butler : 

"Yes,  of  course  I  want  to  know  English,  but  I 
wish  especially  to  speak  French  with  an  English 
accent."  She  had  worked  for  nothing  else.  She 
had  been,  fortunately,  rewarded  for  her  persever- 
ance; her  little  Anglo  -  Parisian  gibberish  was  at 
times  quite  original. 

While  Maurice  was  retracing  his  steps  with  Mile. 
Martha,  Raoul  placed  himself  at  a  table  in  the 
dining-car.  He  soon  saw  them  come  back  with 
mamma's  shawl.  Maurice  lingered  for  a  few  min- 
utes at  the  table  where  the  mother  and  the  young 
brother  of  the  little  blonde  were  lunching.  Then 
he  came  back  to  Raoul,  who  said  as  soon  as  he 
approached : 

"  Who  is  she — quick,  tell  me,  who  is  she  ?  When- 
ever one  pleases  I  will  marry  her — now,  on  getting 
down  from  the  train.  In  my  arms !  I  held  her  in 
my  arms !  Such  a  waist !  A  dream  !  There  are, 
as  you  must  know,  slim  waists  and  slim  waists. 
There  are  waists  which  are  slim,  hard,  harsh,  stiff, 


174  PARISIAN   POINTS    OF   VIEW 

bony,  or  mechanically  made  by  odious  artifices  in 
the  corsets.  I  have  thoroughly  studied  the  corset 
question.  It's  so  important !  And  then  there's  the 
true  slim  waist,  which  is  easy,  natural,  supple.  Sup- 
ple isn't  sufficient  for  what  just  slid  through  my 
hands  a  short  time  ago.  Slippery — yes,  that's  the 
word.  Slippery  just  expresses  my  thought — a  slip- 
pery waist !" 

Raoul  was  quite  charmed  with  what  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "  slippery ;  and  that  little 
pug-nose !  and  her  little  eyes  have  quite  a — a  Chi- 
nese air !  But  who  is  she,  who  is  she  ?" 

"  The  daughter  of  one  of  my  mother's  friends." 

"  Is  she  rich  ?" 

"  Very  rich." 

"It's  on  account  of  papa  that  I  asked  you 
that,  because  I  would  marry  her  without  a  dow- 
ry. It's  the  first  time  I've  ever  said  such  a 
thing  on  meeting  a  young  girl.  And  now  the 
name." 

"  Mile.  Martha  Derame." 

"  Derame,  did  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Isn't  the  father  a  wealthy  merchant  who  has 
business  in  Japan  and  China  ?" 

"  The  same." 

"Ah,  my  dear  fellow — no;  one  only  sees  such 


IN   THE   EXPRESS  175 

things  in  the  comic  plays  of  the  minor  theatres,  at 
Cluny  or  Dejazet." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  What's  the  matter  with  me  ?  She's  papa's  Num- 
ber Three — yes,  Number  Three.  The  father  of  that 
little  marvel  is  one  of  papa's  piquet  players  at  the 
club.  And  I  wouldn't  see  Number  Three,  and  she 
falls  into  my  arms  on  the  platform  between  Paris 
and  Lyons.  You  will  present  me  after  lunch,  and  I 
shall  speak  to  the  mother  and  tell  her  all." 

"  How,  all  ?" 

"  Yes,  all ;  that  her  daughter  is  papa's  Number 
Three,  and  that  I  didn't  want  Number  One  or  Two, 
but  that  I  should  like  Number  Three.  Ah,  dear  boy, 
how  pretty  she  is — especially  her  nose,  so  charming- 
ly turned  up.  She  has  just  looked  at  me,  and  in  a 
certain  way ;  I  am  sure  I  don't  displease  her.  Did 
you  mention  me,  did  you  tell  my  name  ?" 

"  No." 

"You  were  wrong.  At  any  rate,  right  after 
lunch —  Do  you  know  what  I  think  ?  That  this 
affair  will  go  through  on  wheels.  I  shall  first  tele- 
graph papa,  and  then  to-morrow —  Oh,  heavens ! 
I  hope  there's  a  telephone  between  Paris  and  Mar- 
seilles— " 

He  interrupted  himself  and  called  : 

"  Porter !     Porter  !" 


176  PARISIAN   POINTS  OF   VIEW 

"Sir." 

"Is  there  a  telephone  between  Paris  and  Mar- 
seilles ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Ah!  That's  all.  Thanks.  The  telephone, 
Maurice,  there's  the  telephone !  Papa  can  speak 
for  me  to-morrow  by  telephone.  It  will  be  charm- 
ing !  Marriage  by  express.  Express,  electric,  tele- 
phonic, and  romantic  marriage,  all  at  the  same 
time.  You  understand  that  between  a  little  phiz 
like  that  and  a  voyage  around  the  world  I  don't 
hesitate.  But  why  haven't  you  thought  of  marry- 
ing her?" 

"  Oh,  too  wealthy — too  wealthy  a  match  for  me ; 
and  then  she  is  not  the  kind  of  little  person  to  go 
and  bury  in  a  garrison  town  in  Algeria.  She  is  a 
Parisian,  a  true  Parisian,  who  wants  to  amuse  her- 
self, and  who  will  amuse  herself." 

"  Just  what  I  want,  absolutely  just  what  I  want. 
I  too  wish  to  amuse  myself.  She  will  amuse  herself, 
I  shall  amuse  myself,  we  will  amuse  ourselves." 

Young  Raoul  was  in  a  frenzy,  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  finished  his  luncheon  he  scrawled  a  new  de- 
spatch on  the  restaurant  table  to  his  father,  and, 
while  writing,  talked  very  excitedly. 

"  I'll  send  my  despatch  from  Dijon,  and  I'll  ad- 
dress it  to  the  club;  papa  will  be  there  about  five 


IN   THE  EXPRESS  177 

o'clock,  and  also  the  father  of  this  little  marvel. 
They  can  immediately  discuss  the  affair.  Shall  I 
ask  for  an  answer  at  Lyons  ?  The  time-table,  pass 
me  the  time-table.  Lyons,  5.25.  No,  that  would 
be  too  short.  Answer  at  Marseilles.  They  stop 
at  Marseilles  ?'  Yes  ?  For  twenty-four  hours  ?  All 
right,  so  do  I.  At  what  hotel  ?  Hotel  de  Noailles  ? 
All  right,  so  do  I.  So  answer  Hotel  de  Noailles. 
My  despatch  is  very  good.  You  will  see.  As  good 
as  the  other — better,  even.  I've  the  knack  of  tele- 
grams to-day.  Yes,  it's  very  good." 

He  wrote  and  wrote ;  he  was  inspired,  he  was  an- 
imated ;  he  made  a  few  more  mistakes  than  usual 
in  spelling,  that  was  all — it  was  emotion.  He  reread 
his  despatch  with  complaisance,  he  made  Maurice 
read  it,  who  could  not  help  thinking  the  incident 
funny.  Raoul  counted  the  words  of  his  despatch 
— there  were  about  a  hundred  arid  fifty — and  call- 
ing the  waiter  of  the  dining-car,  he  said,  "  Send  this 
telegram  off  for  me  at  Dijon.  Here  are  ten  francs ; 
there  will  be  two  or  three  over  for  you." 

Then  turning  at  once  to  Maurice  he  asked,  "  Is 
that  enough  ?" 

"  Why  certainly." 

"  Well,  for  such  a  marriage — ah,  my  dear  fellow, 
you  sail  to-morrow  at  what  time  ?" 

"  At  two  o'clock." 


178  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF    VIEW 

"  Oh,  we  have  plenty  of  time,  then ;  all  will  be  set- 
tled by  two  o'clock." 

"  Oh,  settled ;  you're  crazy !" 

"  Not  at  all ;  it's  already  very  far  advanced,  since 
it's  papa's  Number  Three.  I  only  ask  one  thing  of 
you :  present  me  to  the  mother  shortly.  After  that 
let  me  alone.  I'll  manage  everything ;  only,  at  any 
cost,  we  must  leave  our  car  and  find  two  arm-chairs 
in  the  same  car,  and  near  my  mother-in-law." 

"  Your  mother-in-law !" 

"  That's  what  I  said  ;  my  mother-in-law.  Once 
the  two  arm-chairs  are  procured,  I  am  master  of  the 
situation.  You  don't  know  me.  I  already  know 
what  I  shall  say  to  the  mother,  what  I  shall  say  to 
my  young  brother-in-law  (he  is  very  nice),  and  what 
I  shall  say  to  my  future  bride.  I  shall  have  made 
a  conquest  of  all  of  them  before  we  reach  Lyons. 
Lyons  ?  No ;  that's  going  a  little  fast — say  Valence 
or  Monte'limar.  Pass  me  the  time-table  again.  Let 
us  settle  everything,  and  leave  nothing  to  chance. 
Oh,  look  at  her !  She  has  nibbled  nuts  for  the  last 
fifteen  minutes,  and  how  she  cracks  them — crack! 
one  little  bite — and  what  pretty  little  teeth !  She 
is  very  pretty  even  while  eating — an  important 
thing.  It's  very  rare  to  find  women  who  remain 
pretty  while  eating  and  sleeping,  very  rare.  Little 
Adelaide,  the  red-headed  one,  you  remember,  ate 


IN   THE    EXPRESS  179 

stupidly.  And  this  one  over  there  eats  brightly; 
she  eats — crack !  another  nut — and  she  looks  at  me 
on  the  sly.  I  can  see  that  she  looks  at  me.  All 
goes  well,  all  goes  well !" 

In  truth,  all  did  go  well.  At  Montbard,  12.32, 
Raoul  was  presented  to  Mme.  Derame,  who,  on 
hearing  the  name  of  Chamblard,  had  a  little  shiver 
— the  shiver  of  a  mother  who  has  a  young  daugh- 
ter to  marry,  and  who  says  to  herself,  "  Oh,  what  a 
splendid  match !"  Her  husband  had  often  spoken 
to  her  of  young  Chamblard. 

"  Ah,"  he  used  to  say  to  her,  "  what  a  marriage 
for  Martha !  We  speak  of  it  sometimes  before  and 
after  our  piquet,  Chamblard  and  I ;  but  the  young 
man  is  restive — doesn't  yet  wish  to  settle  down. 
It  would  be  such  a  good  thing — he  is  richer  than 
we.  Chamblard  is  once,  twice,  three  times  richer ! 
And  Martha  isn't  easy  to  marry ;  she  has  already 
refused  five  or  six  desirable  matches  on  all  sorts 
of  pretexts.  They  didn't  please  her :  they  were  too 
old,  they  had  no  style,  they  didn't  live  in  fashion- 
able neighborhoods,  she  didn't  wish  to  go  into 
sugar,  or  cotton,  or  wine  —  or  anything,  in  short. 
She  would  accept  none  other  than  a  young  hus- 
band, and  not  too  serious.  She  must  have  a  very 
rich  man  who  did  nothing  and  loved  pleasure." 

How  well  young  Chamblard  answered  to  that 


180  PARISIAN    POINTS    OF   VIEW 

description !  When  there  was  question  of  doing 
nothing,  Raoul  showed  real  talent.  As  soon  as  one 
talked  horses,  dogs,  carriages,  hats,  dresses,  jewel- 
ry, races,  fencing,  skating,  cooking,  etc.,  he  showed 
signs  of  the  rarest  and  highest  competence. 

So,  as  there  was  general  conversation,  Raoul 
was  very  brilliant.  In  the  neighborhood  of  Cha- 
lons-sur-Saone  (3.10),  while  relating  how  he,  Cham- 
blard,  had  invented  a  marvellous  little  coupe,  he 
did  not  say  that  that  coupe  had  been  offered  by 
him  to  Mile.  Juliette  Lorphelin,  of  the  ballet  corps 
at  the  Folies-Bergere.  This  coupe  was  a  marvel ; 
besides,  it  was  very  well  known ;  it  was  called  the 
Chamblard  coupe. 

"  Small,"  he  said,  "  very  small.  A  coupe  ought 
always  to  be  small."  But  what  a  lot  of  things  in 
such  a  small  space  :  a  drawer  for  toilet  necessaries, 
a  secret  box  for  money  and  jewelry,  a  clock,  a  ther- 
mometer, a  barometer,  a  writing  -  shelf — and  that 
was  not  all ! 

He  became  animated,  and  grew  excited  in  speak- 
ing of  his  invention.  Martha  listened  to  him  ea- 
gerly. 

"When  you  pull  up  the  four  wooden  shutters 
you  naturally  find  yourself  in  the  dark ;  but  the  four 
shutters  are  mirrors,  and  as  soon  as  one  has  placed 
a  finger  on  a  little  button  hidden  under  the  right- 


IN   THE   EXPRESS  l8l 

hand  cushion,  six  little  crystal  balls,  ingeniously 
scattered  in  the  tufting  of  the  blue  satin  of  the 
coupe,  become  electric  lights.  The  coupe  is  turned 
into  a  little  lighted  boudoir ;  and  not  only  for  five 
minutes — no,  but  for  an  hour,  two  hours,  if  one 
wishes  it ;  there  is  a  storage-battery  under  the  seat. 
When  I  submitted  this  idea  to  my  carriage-maker 
he  was  smitten  with  envy  and  admiration." 

Martha,  too,  was  smitten. 

"  What  a  charming  man !"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  Oh,  to  have  such  a  coupe !  But  pearl-gray — I 
should  want  it  pearl-gray." 

Then  they  discussed  jewelry,  dresses,  hats,  stuffs. 
And  Raoul  proved  on  all  those  questions,  if  possi- 
ble, more  remarkable  than  ever.  He  had  paid  so 
many  bills  to  great  dress-makers,  great  milliners, 
and  great  jewellers !  He  had  been  present  at  so 
many  conferences  on  the  cut  of  such  a  dress  or  the 
arrangement  of  such  a  costume,  at  so  many  scenes 
of  trying  on  and  draping !  And  as  he  drew  easily, 
he  willingly  threw  his  ideas  on  paper,  as  he  said, 
neatly.  He  had  even  designed  the  costumes  of 
a  little  piece — played  in  I  do  not  know  what  little 
theatre — which  was  revolutionary,  anarchistic,  sym- 
bolistic, decadent,  end  of  the  century,  end  of  the 
world. 

He  took  his  little  note-book  and  began  to  out- 


182  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

line  with  a  light  hand,  in  spite  of  the  movement  of 
the  train,  several  of  his  creations.  He  had  tact,  and 
thought  of  everything.  "  It  was,"  he  said,  "  for 
charades  played  in  society  at  my  friend's,  the  baron 
so  and  so."  He  invented  the  baron,  and  gave  him 
a  resonant  name. 

Martha  was  delighted.  Never  had  a  man,  since 
she  had  been  allowed  to  chat  a  little  with  young 
men,  seemed  to  her  to  have  such  an  original  and 
interesting  conversation. 

"  Lately,"  said  Raoul,  "  one  of  my  cousins — she 
often  applies  to  me — consulted  me  about  a  dress 
for  a  ball  at  Nice,  during  the  carnival.  This  is 
what  I  advised  her.  See,  I  draw  at  the  same  time 
—look." 

Oh,  how  she  did  look ! 

"  I  am  going  to  try  to  make  myself  well  under- 
stood. A  foundation  of  smooth  white  satin,  cling- 
ing, very  clinging — blue,  I  adore  blue." 

That  pained  her ;  she  disliked  blue. 

"  Yes,  very  clinging ;  my  cousin  has  a  delightful 
figure,  and  can  stand  it." 

He  took  Martha's  figure  in  with  a  hasty  glance, 
and  the  glance  seemed  to  say,  "You  could,  too." 
She  understood  and  blushed,  charmed  with  that 
delicate  flattery.  Raoul  continued  : 

"  Pale,  very  pale  blue  satin.     Then  on  my  foun- 


IN   THE   EXPRESS  183 

dation  I  threw  an  over-dress  of  pompadour  lace  of 
very  soft  tones :  greens,  pinks,  mauves,  cream,  and 
azure.  Very  large  sleeves  with  a  double  puff  of  blue 
velvet,  wristlets  of  Venetian  point.  Am  I  clear  ?" 

"  Oh,  very  clear,  very  clear." 

And  in  an  excited  voice  she  repeated : 

"  A  double  puff  of  blue  velvet,  with  wristlets  of 
Venetian  point." 

All  of  a  sudden  the  brakes  scraped,  and  the  train 
came  sharply  to  a  stop.  One  heard  the  cry  of 
"Macon!  Macon!" 

"  Macon  already !"  said  Martha. 

That  "  already  "  rang  delightfully  in  Raoul's  ears. 
There  was  much  in  that  already.  Raoul  profited 
by  the  five  minutes'  stop  to  complete  and  fix  his 
little  sketch,  which  was  slightly  jolted ;  and  he  did 
not  notice  that  his  young  brother-in-law  had  been 
sent  out  with  a  despatch  to  the  telegraph-office. 
The  despatch  had  been  secretly  written  by  Mme. 
Derame,  and  had,  too,  been  directed  to  the  Old 
Club. 

The  train  started — 4.11.  Raoul  had  not  thought 
to  get  down  to  see  if  under  the  railing  there  was 
not  a  despatch  addressed  to  him.  There  was  one, 
which  was  to  remain  eternally  at  Macon.  The  tele- 
gram contained  these  words  :  "  Return  •  no  longer 
question  of  Antwerp  marriage." 


184  PARISIAN   POINTS    OF   VIEW 

The  train  ran  on  and  on,  and  now  there  was 
question  of  another  dress — a  silk  dress,  light  pink, 
with  a  large  jabot  of  lace  down  the  front.  Raoul 
literally  dazzled  Martha  by  his  inexhaustible  fer- 
tility of  wise  expressions  and  technical  terms. 

While  the  express  passed  the  Romaneche  station 
(4.32)  father  Chamblard  came  into  the  Old  Club, 
went  into  the  card-room,  and  met  father  Derame. 
Piquet  ?  With  pleasure.  So  there  they  sat,  face 
to  face.  There  were  there  eight  or  ten  card-tables — 
piquet,  bezique,  whist,  etc.  The  works  were  in  full 
blast.  First  game,  and  papa  Derame  is  rubiconed ; 
the  second  game  was  going  to  begin  when  a  foot- 
man arrives  with  a  despatch  for  M.  Chamblard. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

He  reads,  he  becomes  red ;  he  rereads,  and  he 
gets  scarlet. 

It  was  Raoul's  brilliant  telegram  from  Dijon  ; 

"  Dear  father,  I  shall  not  go.  Most  extraordi- 
nary meeting.  Your  Number  Three  —  yes,  your 
Number  Three — in  the  train  with  her  mother,  and 
I  wouldn't  see  her.  Ah  !  if  I  had  known.  Strike 
while  the  iron's  hot;  I'm  striking  it,  strike  it  too. 
M.  D.  must  be  at  the  club,  speak  to  him  at  once; 
tell  him  that  I  left  to  avoid  marrying  an  ugly  worn- 


IN  THE   EXPRESS  185 

an ;  that  I  only  wish  to  make  a  love-match  ;  that  I 
am  head-over-heels  in  love  with  his  daughter.  We 
shall  all  be  to-night  at  Marseilles,  Hotel  de  No- 
ailles.  Get  M.  D.  to  back  me  up  by  telegraph  to 
Mme.  D.  I  will  talk  with  you  to-morrow  over  the 
telephone.  I  am  writing  my  telegram  in  the  dining- 
car.  At  this  moment  she  is  nibbling  nuts — charm- 
ing, she  is  charming !  She  fell  into  my  arms  on  the 
platform.  Till  to-morrow  at  the  telephone,  nine 
o'clock." 

M.  Chamblard's  agitation  did  not  escape  M. 
Derame. 

"Is  it  a  serious  matter  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  We  can  stop  if  you  wish." 

"  Yes ;  but  first  of  all,  did  Mme.  and  Mile.  De- 
rame leave  here  this  morning  on  the  express  for 
Marseilles  ?" 

"Yes,  at  9.55.  Why  do  you  ask  that?  Has 
there  been  any  accident  ?" 

"No,  no  accident;  it  can't  be  called  that;  on 
the  contrary.  Come,  come  into  the  little  par- 
lor." 

He  told  him  everything,  showed  him  the  de- 
spatch, gave  him  certain  necessary  explanations 
about  the  words,  such  as  Number  Three.  And  there 
they  were,  choking,  delighted — both  the  father  of 


186  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

the  young  man  and  the  father  of  the  young  girl. 
What  luck,  what  a  providential  meeting ! 

"  But  you  told  me  that  your  son  didn't  wish  to 
marry." 

^"  He  didn't  wish  to,  but  he  has  seen  your  daugh- 
ter, and  now  he  wishes  to.  Come,  hurry  up  and 
send  a  telegram  to  Marseilles  to  Mme.  Derame." 

"  But  she  will  be  thunderstruck  when  I  present 
to  her  a  son-in-law  by  telegraph." 

Return  of  the  footman.  It  was  a  despatch  for 
M.  Derame.  He  opens  it. 

"It's  from  my  wife,  from  Macon,  2.15." 

"  Good,"  says  M.  Chamblard;  "  all  goes  well,  very 
well." 

"  Very  disturbed.  Met  in  the  train  the  son  of 
M.  C.,  of  Rue  Rougemont,  your  club  friend.  He 
was  presented  by  Maurice.  You  often  spoke  to 
me  of  a  possible  alliance  there.  Evidently  he  thinks 
her  charming.  Just  at  present  he  is  talking  to  her, 
and  looks  at  her,  looks  at  her.  What  shall  I  do? 
Shall  I  put  a  stop  to  it  or  allow  it  to  continue? 
Large  fortune,  isn't  there  ?" 

M.  Derame  in  his  turn  showed  his  despatch  to 
M.  Chamblard.  They  continued  to  talk,  in  high 
good-humor  and  in  excellent  accord,  and  went  on 
with  their  game  of  piquet  only  after  having  sent  the 
following  two  telegrams  to  the  Hotel  de  Noailles : 


IN   THE   EXPRESS  187 

First  despatch  to  Mme.  Derame :  "  If  it  pleases 
you,  if  it  pleases  her,  yes.  Enormous  fortune." 

Second  despatch  to  Raoul:  "Have  spoken  to 
D.  He  is  telegraphing  to  Mme.  D.  He  approves, 
so  do  I." 

A  footman  carried  the  two  despatches  at  the 
same  time  to  the  telegraph-office  in  the  Place  de  la 
Bourse,  and  during  the  time  that,  running  over 
the  wires  along  the  railroad,  they  passed  the  ex- 
press towards  half-past  six  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Saint-Rambert,  the  Derames,  Raoul,  and  Maurice, 
in  the  best  possible  spirits  and  in  most  perfect 
harmony,  dined  at  the  same  table,  and  Martha 
looked  at  Raoul,  and  Raoul  looked  at  Martha,  and 
Mme.  Derame  said  to  herself :  "  Martha's  falling  in 
love ;  I  know  her,  she  is  falling  in  love.  She  fell  in 
love  just  so  last  year  at  a  ball  with  a  little  youth 
who  was  very  dandified,  but  without  fortune.  This 
time,  luckily,  yes — Edward  told  me  so — there  is 
plenty  of  money;  so,  naturally,  if  Martha  is  willing 
we  are.'r 

The  train  ran  on,  and  on,  and  on ;  and  Raoul 
talked,  and  talked,  and  talked.  He  even  let  slip 
practical  thoughts,  raised  himself  up  to  general 
ideas,  and  developed  with  force  the  theory  that 
the  first  duty  of  a  woman  was  to  be,  in  all  things, 
refined  elegance.  He  explained,  with  endless  de- 


188  PARISIAN   POINTS  OF   VIEW 

tail,  what  the  life  of  an  absolutely  correct  fashion- 
able woman  was,  what  it  was  to  be  an  absolutely 
fashionable  woman.  He  triumphantly  took  his 
fashionable  woman  from  Paris  to  Trouville,  from 
Trouville  to  Lake  Como,  from  Lake  Como  to  Monte- 
Carlo.  He  drew  the  trunks  of  the  fashionable 
woman,  marvellous  trunks,  which  were  heaped  up 
in  the  vestibules  of  first-class  hotels.  Besides,  he 
had  also  invented  a  trunk. 

Then,  very  tactfully,  he  put  Martha  through  a 
little  examination,  which  had  nothing  in  common 
with  the  examinations  of  the  Sorbonne  or  the  Ho- 
tel de  Ville. 

"Did  she  skate?"  That's  what  he  wanted  to 
know  first !  He  was  himself  a  very  distinguished 
skater.  He  needed  a  sport-loving  wife.  He  had 
but  just  pronounced  the  word  skating  when  sud- 
denly the  young  brother  (how  precious  little  broth- 
ers sometimes  are)  exclaimed :  "Ah,  it's  sister  who 
skates  well !  She  makes  figures-of-eight.  And  who 
swims  well,  too  —  like  a  fish !" 

She  skated,  she  swam,  she  was  sport  -  loving. 
Raoul  said  to  the  young  girl,  with  deep  enthusiasm : 
"I  congratulate  you.  A  woman  who  can't  swim 
isn't  a  woman." 

And  he  added,  with  increasing  energy : 

"  A  woman  who  can't  skate  isn't  a  woman." 


IN   THE   EXPRESS  189 

When  he  had  a  strong  thought,  he  willingly  used 
it  again  in  a  brief  but  striking  form. 

Martha's  face  beamed  with  joy.  She  was  really 
a  woman.  Never  had  a  sweeter  word  been  said  to 
her. 

Night  had  come ;  it  was  necessary,  therefore,  to 
tear  one's  self  away  from  that  exquisite  conversa- 
tion, and  return  to  the  parlor-car.  Young  Derame 
was  going  to  sleep ;  so  they  began  to  prepare  for 
the  trip  through  the  train. 

Here  is  the  platform,  the  platform  of  the  morn- 
ing, the  platform  of  the  first  meeting.  She  walks 
ahead  of  him,  and  in  a  whisper  he  says  to  her,  "  It's 
here  that  this  morning — " 

She  turns  round,  and  smiling  repeats,  "  Yes,  it's 
here  that  this  morning — " 

Always  with  that  little  English  accent  which 
never  leaves  her,  even  when  she  is  most  agitated. 

It  is  here  that  this  morning —  That  was  all,  and 
it  said  all.  A  delightful  evening.  No  more  rain, 
no  more  dust.  Already  there  was  the  soft,  balmy 
air  of  the  South.  The  moon  lit  that  idyl  at  full 
speed.  Spring-time  everywhere,  in  the  sky  and  in 
the  hearts. 

"  She  loves  me,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"  He  adores  me,"  she  said  to  herself. 

How  right  they  were  to  give  themselves  up  thus, 


igo  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF   VIEW 

without  a  struggle,  without  resistance,  to  the  in- 
clination which  carried  them,  quite  naturally,  tow- 
ards each  other.  There  had  been  between  them, 
from  the  first  word,  so  perfect,  so  complete  a  com- 
munity of  tastes,  ideas,  and  sentiments.  They  were 
so  well  made,  this  little  puppet  and  this  little  doll, 
to  roll  off,  both  together,  gloriously  in  the  "  Cham- 
blard  coupe,"  so  well  matched  to  walk  in  the  world, 
accomplishing  mechanically,  automatically,  at  the 
right  hour,  in  the  prescribed  costume,  everywhere 
where  it  was  correct  to  take  pleasure,  all  the  func- 
tions of  fashionable  life,  and  all  the  rituals  of  world- 
ly worship. 

They  arrive  in  the  parlor-car.  The  shades  are 
drawn  over  the  lamps ;  travellers  are  stiff,  drowsy, 
and  asleep  in  the  big  red  arm-chairs. 

"  Change  places,"  Raoul  whispers  to  Maurice ; 
"  sit  beside  her.  I  am  going  to  sit  by  the  mother  j 
I  must  speak  to  her." 

Maurice  lent  himself  to  this  manoeuvre  with  per- 
fect docility.  Martha  did  not  understand  it.  Why 
did  he  abandon  her  ?  Why  was  he  talking  to  her 
mother,  and  so  low,  so  low  that  she  couldn't  hear  ? 
What  was  he  saying  ?  What  was  he  saying  ? 

This  is  what  he  said  between  Montelimar,  8.35, 
and  Pierrelatte,  8.55 : 

"Listen  to  me,  madam,  listen  to  me.     I  am  an 


IN    THE   EXPRESS  igi 

honest  man ;  I  wish,  I  ought,  to  let  you  know  the 
situation,  the  entire  situation.  Let  us  first  settle 
an  important  point.  My  father  knows  M.  Derame." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know." 

"Another  more  important  point.  Let  us  men- 
tion the  essential  things  first.  My  father  is  very 
rich." 

"  I  know,  I  know  that  too." 

"  Good,  then,  very  good.  I  continue.  I  left  Paris 
this  morning,  and  I  have  here  in  my  pocket  a  ticket 
for  cabin  No.  27  on  the  Traonaddy,  which  leaves 
to-morrow  at  four  o'clock  from  the  Bay  of  Joliette 
for  Suez,  Aden,  Colombo,  and  Singapore,  and  I 
shall  go  on  board  to-morrow  at  four  o'clock  if  you 
don't  let  me  hope  to  become  your  son-in-law." 

"  Sir !" 

"  Don't  move,  madam,  don't  move.  Mile.  Mar- 
tha is  pretending  to  sleep,  but  she  isn't  sleeping ; 
she  is  watching  us,  and  I  haven't  said  all  yet.  I 
am  but  just  beginning.  You  are  going  to  answer 
me — oh,  I  know  it — that  you  don't  know  me,  that 
Mile.  Martha  doesn't  know  me.  Allow  me  to  tell 
you  that  Mile.  Martha  and  myself  know  each  other 
better  than  three-fourths  of  engaged  couples  on  the 
day  of  their  marriage.  You  know  how  it  is  usually 
done.  A  rapid  glance  from  afar  in  a  theatre — one 
brings  good  lorgnettes,  one  examines.  '  How  do 


I92  PARISIAN    POINTS   OF    VIEW 

you  like  him  ?'  *  Fairly,  fairly.'  Then,  several  days 
later,  at  a  ball,  in  the  midst  of  the  figures  of 
the  quadrille,  several  gasping,  breathless  phrases 
are  exchanged.  Then  a  meeting  in  a  picture-gal- 
lery. There,  there  is  more  intimacy,  because  it 
takes  place  in  a  small  room.  It  happened  to  me 
with  a  young  provincial.  I  had  pegged  away  that 
morning  at  the  Joanne  guide,  so  as  to  be  able  to 
find  something  to  say  about  the  Raphaels  and  the 
Murillos.  And  at  the  end  of  several  interviews  of 
that  sort  it  is  over,  one  has  made  acquaintance, 
one  suits  the  other,  and  the  marriage  is  decided. 
Mile.  Martha  and  I  are  already  old  comrades.  In 
the  first  place,  to  begin  with,  this  morning  at  half- 
past  eleven  she  fell  into  my  arms." 

"  My  daughter  in  your  arms !" 

"  Don't  jump,  madam ;  Mile.  Martha  will  see  you 
jump." 

Martha  had,  in  fact,  closely  followed  the  scene 
with  half-shut  eyes,  and  said  to  herself,  "  Good  gra- 
cious !  what  is  he  telling  mamma  ?  She  is  obliged 
to  hold  on  to  the  arms  of  her  seat  to  keep  herself 
from  jumping  up." 

"  Yes,  madam,  in  my  arms ;  by  the  greatest,  by 
the  most  fortunate  of  accidents,  we  stumbled  over 
each  other  on  one  of  the  platforms  of  the  train. 
And  since  I  have  seen  her,  not  in  the  false  light 


IN   THE    EXPRESS  193 

of  a  theatre  or  a  gallery,  but  in  the  full  glare  of  sun- 
light. I  have  seen  her  at  lunch,  munching  nuts  with 
the  prettiest  teeth  there  are  in  the  world ;  I  have 
seen  her,  just  now,  in  the  moonlight ;  and  I  know 
that  she  skates,  and  I  know  that  she  swims,  and  I 
know  she  would  like  to  have  a  pearl-gray  coupd,  and 
she  ought  to  have  it.  And  now  I  admire  her  in  the 
semi-obscurity.  Ravishing !  isn't  she  ravishing  ?" 

"  Sir,  never  has  a  mother  found  herself — " 

"  In  such  a  situation  ?  I  acknowledge  it,  madam, 
and  for  that  very  reason  you  must  get  out  of  the 
situation  quickly ;  it's  evident  that  it  can't  be  pro- 
longed." 

"  That's  true—" 

"  Here  is  what  I  propose  to  you.  You  go  to  the 
Hotel  de  Noailles  ;  I,  too,  naturally.  You  have  all 
the  morning  to-morrow  to  talk  to  Mile.  Martha,  and 
the  telephone  to  talk  through  to  M,  Derame.  You 
know  who  I  am.  You  have  seen  me,  too,  in  the 
daylight.  I  have  talked — talked  a  great  deal.  You 
could,  you  and  Mile.  Martha,  find  out  what  I  am, 
what  I  think.  Well,  to-morrow — what  time  do  you 
expect  to  breakfast  to-morrow  ?" 

"But  I  don't  know.  I  assure  you  that  I  am 
choking,  upset,  overcome." 

"  Let  us  settle  on  an  hour  all  the  same ;  eleven 
o:clock — will  you,  at  eleven  ?" 


194  PARISIAN   POINTS   OF   VIEW 

"  If  you  wish." 

"  Well,  to-morrow  at  eleven  o'clock  I  shall  be  in 
the  dining-room  of  the  hotel.  If  you  say  '  Go '  I 
shall  go;  if  you  say  'Stay'  I  shall  stay.  Don't 
answer  me ;  take  time  to  reflect ;  it's  worth  while. 
Till  to-morrow,  madam,  till  to-morrow  at  eleven." 

In  the  morning  very  interesting  communications 
passed  between  Paris  and  Marseilles. 

When  Mme.  Derame  entered  the  dining-room  of 
the  hotel  at  eleven  o'clock,  Raoul  went  straight  to 
her,  and  the  cavalryman,  always  adroit  in  his  ma- 
noeuvres, had  taken  possession  of  Mile.  Martha.  A 
short  dialogue  ensued  between  Raoul  and  Mme. 
Derame,  who  was  much  agitated. 

"They  tell  me  there  are  boats  every  fortnight 
between  Indo-China  and  Marseilles — you  could  put 
off  your  departure — merely  taking  another  boat — " 

"  Ah,  thanks,  madam,  thanks !" 

At  two  o'clock  the  Derames  and  young  Cham- 
blard  accompanied  Maurice  to  the  boat  for  Africa. 
On  the  deck  of  the  steamer  Raoul  said  to  his 
friend : 

"It's  understood  that  you  are  to  be  best  man. 
On  arriving,  ask  your  colonel  for  leave  at  once.  It 
will  take  place,  I  think,  in  six  weeks." 


IN   THE   EXPRESS  195 

Raoul  was  mistaken.  It  was  decidedly  an  ex- 
press marriage ;  five  weeks  were  sufficient. 

When  they  were  mounting  the  steps  of  the 
Madeleine,  Raoul  said  to  Martha : 

"  Twelve  o'clock." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?" 

"  Ah,  you  too." 

"Twelve,  the  hour  of  the  platform,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  that's  it." 

They  began  to  laugh,  but  quickly  became  seri- 
ous, and  made  an  irreproachable  entry  into  church. 

They  were  looked  at  eagerly,  and  on  all  sides 
the  following  remarks  were  exchanged  : 

"  You  know  it's  a  love-match."  "  Yes,  it  appears 
it  was  a  meeting  on  the  train."  "  A  lightning- 
stroke  !"  "  What  a  charming  affair !"  "  And  so 
rare  !"  "  Oh  yes,  so  rare  !  A  love-match  !  A  true 
love-match !" 


THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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